Downton College, Oxford
by UltimateGryffindork
Summary: Mary needed a boyfriend to bring home to her parents, and Thomas needed a girlfriend to act as his beard; it was a seemingly perfect arrangement. As they reach their final year at Oxford University, however, they meet Matthew Crawley and Jimmy Kent, and suddenly their plan doesn't seem like quite a good idea after all. A modern-day, university AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 _In which Thomas Barrow and Mary Grantham begin their final year at Oxford University._

"Downton College." Robert Grantham sighed happily as he gazed up at the grand, carved stone entrance to the college, clearly reminiscing. "It hasn't changed one bit since we were here, has it, Cora?"

Cora Grantham only laughed, rolling her eyes. "You say that every single time we come here, Robert!"

"No, I don't!" He insisted, affronted, but clearly knowing better than to argue with his wife.

"Yes, you do, Papa."

He turned to his eldest daughter who was still dragging two large suitcases up the steps that lead to the college.

"Now, come on!" She pushed past them, rolling her eyes at her parents' sentimentality, and stepped through the heavy oak doors that lead to Downton College, Oxford.

The college was as grand inside as it was outside; a large, spacious quad with an immaculately kept lawn, old stone buildings and, at its centre, a beautiful chapel. It was timeless and unchanged, still looking as it had in Mary's parents' day, their parents' day, and probably their parents' day.

"Hello, Mrs Hughes," Mary greeted the porter, sat in her lodge surrounded by room lists and boxes of keys. "Did you have a nice summer?"

Mrs Hughes smiled, putting down her clipboard momentarily as she turned to face Mary. "Why yes, I did, thank you very much! And what about you?"

Mary only shrugged. "Well, it was nice. Nothing special."

"Excuse me, Mrs Hughes? I don't suppose you remember us?" Robert said, nudging his daughter aside slightly as she rolled her eyes.

"Robert and Cora, of course I remember you! Quite the rascals in your day!" Mrs Hughes turned to Mary, smiling to herself at the memories. "Your parents were here when boys and girls weren't allowed in each other's rooms, and the amount of times - "

"Please," Mary held up a hand, impatience written across her face, "I cannot tell you how much I do not want you to finish that sentence. Mrs Hughes, as lovely as it would be to chat, would I _please_ be able to have my room key?"

"Of course." Rifling through the box of keys, Mrs Hughes found the correct one and ticked 'Mary Grantham' off her list. "Here you go! I doubt you need me to tell you where to go by now."

It didn't take long to find Mary's room, and before long they were all in, suitcases piled onto the bed. It was bigger than her previous rooms – perks of being a third year – with a large window that overlooked the quad, high enough up that above the college walls she could see the Oxford skyline.

"Well," she turned to her parents, forcing a smile. "Here I am. I'll see you at Christmas then?"

"Nonsense!" Cora said. "We're going for lunch; we're not just going to leave you here!"

Mary sighed, any pretence at cheerfulness quickly fading. "Very well, if we must. But - "

"You should invite Thomas, too!" Robert interrupted, voicing the very thing Mary had been trying to avoid. "If he's already moved in?"

"I'm not sure if he's moved in yet, and if he has he probably just wants to unpack, settle in," Mary protested. "And besides, wouldn't it be nice to have just the three of us? Spend some…" she tried her best not to look physically pained, "…quality time together."

Her father chortled. "Mary, dear, we've spent quality time with you all summer. It's been a while since we saw Thomas for more than a few minutes, it would be nice! Why don't you give him a call, see if he's around?"

Mary had no choice but to admit defeat. "Fine. But I'll go and find his room – the phone signal is terrible here."

The phone signal _was_ terrible – side effects of old buildings – but that was far from Mary's primary reason for finding Thomas in person. Any meeting with her parents involved strategy and planning, especially at such short notice.

Checking the message where Thomas had told her his room number, she darted through the labyrinth of corridors, eventually finding Thomas' room at the corner of the quad. His door was propped open by a suitcase; he was clearly in the midst of unpacking.

"Thomas?" she called as she knocked, leaning around the door to see Thomas hanging up his shirts in the wardrobe. He turned as he heard her, giving the closest he ever got to a smile.

"Hello there, Mary," he said, turning back to his wardrobe. "Moved in alright, then?"

"I've only just got here; cases still packed in my room!"

There was a pause as Thomas froze, realisation starting to dawn on him. "So, what do you want from me, then?"

"Am I not allowed to come and visit my best friend?" Mary said indignantly.

Thomas sighed. "You forget, Mary, that as your best friend, I know you very, very well. So, what is it you want?"

"Mama and Papa are here, and they want you to come out for lunch with us."

Raising an eyebrow, Thomas said, "Not a chance. You think I want to spend my first day of third year with your parents, listening to them constantly dropping not-so-subtle hints about weddings and grandchildren?" He laughed humourlessly. "You've got to be kidding me."

"We have an agreement," Mary said. "I agreed to be your girlfriend for _your_ convenience, so you have to be my boyfriend for _my_ convenience. If you don't want that anymore, then fine. But otherwise, it's your turn to come and play the son-in-law-to-be with my parents."

* * *

"So, Thomas, what are your plans after graduation?"

Thomas attempted to look happy with the situation as he met Cora's smile over their meal. "I would like to go into clock-making," he said.

"That sounds very exciting," she said, and worse, seemed to believe. "What kind of clocks?"

He found it hard to believe that she and Robert would be this overjoyed to have a clock-maker for a son-in-law, but if there was anything he'd learned from ten years of friendship with Mary, it was that the Granthams were, above all, enthusiastic people-pleasers. He could have said that his life's ambition was to be a lollipop man and he would have been greeted with "Oh, how wonderful!" and strained expressions of happiness.

"Old clocks, mostly," he shrugged. "You know, grandfather clocks and the like. They've always fascinated me, and it's a dying art."

At this, Robert perked up. "Grandfather clocks, you say? Why, the grandfather clock in the hallway hasn't been keeping time very well at all in the last few years; do you think you'd be able to have a look at it, next time you're visiting?"

Thomas paused, his response triggered by a sharp kick to the shin from Mary.

"Of course, I'd love to."

There wasn't anything _wrong_ with Mary's parents, not really; after all, they were nice enough, and only wanted the best for their daughters; sometimes, he even felt bad for lying to them about him and Mary. It was just that they lived in a completely different world from him. They were aware that he didn't have as much money as them, that the only way he was able to go to the school that he did was on a scholarship, but he wondered on a regular basis if it had just never occurred to them, what it must be like to not be rich. Questions like 'Where do you ski?' and 'How do you like your pheasant cooked?' reminded him just quite how out of touch they were. He knew that the only reason they welcomed him into Mary's life at all was because he'd had a good education and, with a place at Oxford, the chance to 'better himself'.

Robert cleared his throat. "Have you thought about taking up rowing this year, Thomas? It would seem a shame to come to Oxford and not at least try it!"

"It's never really appealed to me, Sir," he said smoothly, throwing in the 'Sir' for good measure.

"Really, Thomas, I think that by now you can call me Robert!" But Robert's smile told Thomas that he'd earned some more brownie points.

Mary had turned slightly to him, giving him a sickening smile.

"I always come and support Mary in her races, though," he quickly added, trying not to jump when Mary took his hand where it was on the table.

She laughed, no genuine humour behind it at all, but in a convincing manner that only people like the Granthams could really pull off. "Who knows, maybe this will be the year that we finally get you into a boat!"

Cringing and trying his best to make it look like a smile, he patted her arm, doing his best to be half of the happy couple.

He was perfectly content to sit and eat quietly for the rest of the meal, smiling and nodding whenever required, letting Mary and her parents talk around him. There wasn't really much he could have added to the conversation even if he'd wanted to; it was gossip about family and friends, or discussions about whether or not to refurbish the second conservatory. As meals with Mary's parents go, it hadn't been too bad; yes, he had been completely unable to pronounce the food on the menu, and he hadn't known how to eat it when it arrived, but on the whole it was a relative success.

The walk back to the college, however, was a different matter. It didn't escape his notice that Cora wasted no time in dragging a clearly unimpressed Mary into the various shops on the way, leaving Thomas slowly wandering along with Robert.

"How are things with you and Mary, Thomas?" Robert asked, not thirty seconds after Cora and Mary had left.

Caught out by the question, Thomas desperately searched his brain for an appropriate response. "They're, er, never better, Mr Grantham."

He waited for Robert's correction of his name, but it never came; this must be serious.

"Have you thought about your life after graduation? Your, er, your life together?"

Oh no.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Not really; it's still, er, still a long way off. I think we were going to, er, going to see where we were next spring, go from there."

"Oh." This didn't seem to be the answer Robert was looking for. "Thomas, I… I hope I'm not speaking out of turn here, but if the two of you are worried about making any… commitments… for financial reasons, there is no need to worry. I understand that you both want to make your own way in your world, but as Mary's father I would be more than willing to settle any bills, and we have a flat in London that I'm sure you and Mary would be quite comfortable in."

"Mr Grantham - "

"And my mother has always been quite vocal about her wish for Mary to have her ring, so - "

"Mr Grantham!"

Robert paused, turning to look at Thomas who was trying his very best to remain composed. He took a few deep breaths, reminding himself to play the part, mentally kicking his eighteen-year-old self for agreeing to this ridiculous charade.

"Mr Grantham, I… I appreciate your generous offers, I really do, but Mary and I haven't discussed anything like that yet. I wouldn't feel, er, I wouldn't feel comfortable accepting any of that until we've, um, made an agreement."

He could feel his face heating up, whether from embarrassment or anger he didn't know, but thankfully Robert seemed to assume the former.

"Of course, I didn't mean to pry. I just don't want you two to have to worry about anything."

Thomas forced a smile. "Of course. And, er, thank you."

They continued to walk in an awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to say, before they were re-joined by Cora and Mary. Mary immediately took Thomas' arm, dragging him to walk with her in front of her parents, and for once he was thankful for the apparent display of affection.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered as soon as they were far enough ahead. "I hope it wasn't too awful?"

"Let's just say that your parents have realised that their marriage hints weren't working, and are trying a more direct approach," he hissed in return.

Never had Thomas been so grateful to see the front doors of the college as they approached it. Greeting Mrs Hughes once again, he pulled away from Mary as soon as he could, planning on how to best walk to his room while avoiding Mary's.

"I should finish unpacking," he said, forcing a smile. "Thank you for the lovely lunch, Mr and Mrs Grantham."

He accepted a kiss on the cheek from Mary at her parents' expectant looks before dashing off to the nearest set of rooms, realising too late that he wouldn't be able to get round and would have to wait for them to leave before he could go back to his own room.

"You know, we wouldn't mind if you two were more affectionate in front of us. I know you're embarrassed, but there's no need," he heard Cora gently chiding Mary. "Now, remember that Sybil is coming down to visit you next weekend…"

Their voices trailed off as they made their way to Mary's room.

Once he was certain they were gone, Thomas went back out into the quad and made his way to his own room. He ducked through the low doorway that lead to his corridor, when he heard someone calling his name.

"Thomas?"

He turned to see a fellow third-year, Tom Branson, smiling at him.

"Hello, Tom!" he said. "Did you have a good summer?"

"Yes, it was wonderful! What about you?"

They had a strange sort of friendship that had started in first year. Regional accents were still something of a novelty in Oxford, and Tom's Irish and Thomas' Yorkshire had instantly labelled them as, if not outcasts, apart from everyone else. Tom's tendency to turn any conversation towards politics, however, had put Thomas off anything more than a simple comradery.

"It was alright," Thomas shrugged. "Whereabouts are you living this year, then?"

"Right here!" Tom smiled again, indicating the door next to Thomas'. "Looks like we're neighbours!"

"Oh, er – brilliant."

"Yes, it is! Listen, Thomas, have you registered to vote yet?"

There it was.

Thomas sighed. "No, not yet, but I only moved in this morning and the next election's not for another six months - "

"But young people are the most underrepresented demographic in elections, and it is vitally important that we exercise our democratic rights!"

"I'll do it now!" Thomas said quickly before Tom could carry on. "I'll go and register right now. Thank you for reminding me."

Satisfied, Tom headed back to his own room. "Brilliant! I'll see you later, Thomas."

When he got into his room, Thomas threw himself down onto his unmade bed.

He wasn't sure that he had the energy to keep this up much longer. Mary was his best friend, and for the most part their arrangement had proven to be mutually beneficial, but it was becoming tiring, pretending every time her parents came round to be madly in love with her. But then, the consequences of _not_ being in this fake relationship were much, much worse than having to hold Mary's hand over a dinner every other month.

There was a gently knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door slowly opened and Mary padded into the room.

"My parents are finally gone," she said, perching on the end of his bed. "Thank you. For putting up with them. I know they don't make this easy."

Sighing, he sat up, leaning against the headboard.

"How much longer can we keep this up, Mary?" He asked. "I think I managed to put your parents off for a little while, but it's only a matter of time before they get on at us again to get married. And I thought the whole point was to get them off your back about getting a boyfriend?"

The corners of Mary's mouth twitched into a small smile. "Well, we did achieve that. And until recently, it has been easier; we just had the occasional dinner with my parents and they were satisfied. If only they weren't so desperate for grandchildren." She paused. "You know, we don't have to keep this up. We could have a mutual breakup, or something. They'd be upset for a while but they'd get over it, and it's not worth it if it's causing this much bother.

"No." Thomas surprised himself with how quickly he shook his head. "No, I… I can't do that."

"Thomas…" Mary sighed, leaning forward to put her hand on his where it was gripping the duvet. Unlike earlier, this wasn't a strange parody of a romantic display; it was genuine comfort from a friend. "Thomas, you don't have to come out if we break this up. It's not like every straight man is always in a relationship; besides, everyone here has always known us as being together, it wouldn't occur to anyone that anything might be different."

"End of the year," Thomas said after a long silence. "At the end of the year, just before graduation, we break up. We'll mutually decide to go our separate ways, and to carry on being friends, after an obligatory period of crying, eating ice cream and ignoring each other."

Mary nodded her agreement. "Until the end of the year then."

"Unless - " Thomas started, "Unless you meet someone. I don't want to hold you back from an actual, real relationship."

"Fine. But only if the same applies to you; you're allowed to meet people too, you know."

Thomas snorted in disbelief, but held out a hand anyway. "Agreed. Until the end of the year."

Mary shook it, smiling. "Until the end of the year."

 **Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :) please leave a review letting me know your thoughts!**

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _In which Sybil visits and persuades Mary to accompany her to a political event._

"Mary! Mary, over here!"

Mary looked up from her watch just in time to see an excited Sybil throw her arms around her in a hug.

"Hello, Sybil," she said stiffly, patting her sister gently on the back until she let go. "And happy birthday for Wednesday."

"Oh, Mary, it's so good to see you!" Sybil said, putting her arm through Mary's as they left the train station.

"You saw me just last week."

"But it feels like ages! It's very quiet when you're not around, and especially now that Edith's gone off as well, and it's just me. I never thought I would miss you two bickering so much!"

Mary sighed, clearly annoyed. "Do we have to talk about Edith?"

"There's the Mary we know and love!" Sybil looked around as they walked through Oxford, gazing at the buildings that surrounded them. "This place really does look like Hogwarts, doesn't it? Well, I suppose lots of it is Hogwarts."

Mary was perfectly happy to let Sybil babble on about everything she saw if it meant that she didn't have to engage in small talk. She'd never admit it, but she enjoyed spending time with Sybil, even if her constant optimism and ideals could get occasionally wearing.

"Mama and Papa have been all but planning your wedding, you know," Sybil said out of the blue, pulling Mary from her thoughts.

Mary sighed deeply. "I'm not surprised. Papa was pestering poor Thomas about it when they were down last week, it put him in quite the awkward situation. We'd hoped that he'd managed to put Papa off for a bit longer, but obviously not."

"When will you two realise that this whole 'fake relationship' thing is absurd? You and Thomas both deserve happiness with someone you love, and you're not helping anyone by insisting on keeping this up. And besides, you know Edith will find a way to hold it against you at some point."

"Oh, Edith doesn't care," Mary said flippantly. "We talked about it, but decided to keep going for now. Thomas is worried that people will figure it out, and I don't blame him; not after what happened before. If I had my way he'd be dancing down the street wearing nothing but a rainbow flag, but as it is he's so far in the closet that he's practically in Narnia."

"But don't you think - "

"He's my friend, and that means that I support his decisions. Even if I don't think that they're necessarily right. There's no one else here who knows from before, so he's safe. And that's all that matters." Smiling, Mary turned to Sybil. "Now, tell me all about your birthday!"

Thomas was waiting outside Mary's room when they reached the college, a card and present in hand.

"Happy birthday, Sybil!" he said as they approached, giving her a hug. "How does it feel to finally be a legal adult?"

"Oh, the responsibilities are weighing me down already!" Sybil joked, pretending to feel faint, making Thomas laugh. Mary couldn't help but smile at the sight; Thomas had always had a soft spot for Sybil, treating her as if she was his younger sister.

Letting them all into her room, Mary sat in her desk chair as Sybil and Thomas chatted away. In a way, she was jealous of the relationship they had. She and Thomas may be partners in crime, and Sybil may be her sister – and the only one of her sisters she liked – but it was obvious that Thomas and Sybil cared for each other in a way that was just their own. Smiling to herself, she remembered the way Thomas had gone after a boy who rejected Sybil when she was thirteen, landing himself detention, or how Sybil had baked him a cake when he came out to her.

"It sounds like you've had a busy time of it," Thomas said, laughing at a story Sybil had told of her school friends' antics. "So, what do you want to do tonight? It's your eighteenth birthday; can't let it go by without a celebration!"

"Today's not _actually_ my birthday," Sybil corrected him. "That was on Wednesday."

"But did you go out on Wednesday?" Thomas asked with a knowing smile.

"We went to the theatre; it really was wonderful!"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Sybil sighed, admitting defeat. "Fine; I haven't been out yet. But none of my friends are eighteen yet, and it was a school night."

"Well, that simply won't do!" Mary said. "Tonight, we are taking you out. You can buy your first legal drink, we can go round all of the student bars – it will be fun!"

Thomas grinned, excited. "Yeah – we'll show you all the sights of Oxford, at least those you can see from a bar stool! You'll have a blast."

"As long as you, Thomas, remember that you're not as good as good at holding your alcohol as you think you are," Mary said. "Remember that time when - "

She was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Don't think you're getting out of telling Sybil the story," Mary said to Sybil's amusement as she opened the door, revealing Tom Branson.

"Hello, Tom," Mary said, as Thomas called "Hello!" from inside her room.

"Hello Mary, Thomas," Tom replied. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly slightly on edge. Not for the first time, Mary felt a pang of guilt; Tom didn't really have many friends, thanks to his tendency to discuss politics until the sun went down, although he was nice enough.

He continued, "The Labour society are having an open meeting tonight for freshers, and I wondered if you or Thomas would like to go? There'll be free food and wine."

"The Labour society?"

Tom's ears visibly perked up at the sound of a new voice, as Sybil appeared in the doorway. "Y-yes," he stammered. "I'm the, er, I'm the president. Of the society, I mean. The Labour society." His cheeks turned slightly pink as he saw Sybil's eager face. He stuck a hand out awkwardly. "I'm, er, I'm Tom Branson."

"Sybil Grantham; Mary's sister," she said warmly, seemingly oblivious to the way Tom was turning pinker by the second. "So, you're the president of the Labour society? How exciting! You know, our family are traditional Conservative voters, but I have to say that Labour's policies seem to be much more in line with what the country needs."

Tom only nodded, speechless.

"What sort of things do you do in the Labour society?"

Mary couldn't help but stand there, flabbergasted, as the usually talkative and eloquent Tom was turned into a bumbling mess.

"Well, we, er, we discuss politics. A lot. Which, er, shouldn't surprise you, really. And we talk to our local Labour councillors and MPs, about what we think should be done in the area, and they tell us what we can do to help. And we campaign. For Labour, I mean. So… yes, I think that just about sums it up."

"Sounds marvellous!" Sybil's face was wide with excitement. "So, Tom, what do you study?"

"Philosophy, Politics and Economics," Tom managed to stammer out. "I want to, I want to go into Politics, you see."

Sybil's expression got inexplicable brighter. "That really is wonderful!"

"Miss Grantham – I mean, Sybil – would you, er, like to go to the meeting tonight, then? It's not as formal as it usually is, just a chance for everyone to, er, get to know each other, talk politics. You don't have to, if you don't want to, but - "

"I'd love to!"

Mary suddenly felt the need to intervene. "Hang on a second, Sybil! You're going out with us tonight, remember?"

"But I'd much rather go to this, Mary. I'm truly sorry; I hope you understand?"

Looking between Tom and Sybil's equally eager faces, Mary knew that she was fighting a losing battle.

"Fine," Mary sighed. "But I'm coming with you! I'm not letting you go out by yourself with a socialist." She whipped her head round at Thomas' snort. "What was that for?"

"Nothing," he laughed, "Just that you sounded exactly like your father."

"I most certainly did not - "

"You did," Sybil giggled. "You sounded just like Papa. Thomas, would you like to come too?"

"Oh, I'd love to," Thomas drawled, making it very clear that he'd rather be anywhere else, "But I have an essay that I'd better get on with." He pushed past the others in the doorway, letting his hand linger slightly on Mary's arm for Tom's sake. "See you all later!"

* * *

"I don't believe this," Mary grumbled. "This was not how the evening was supposed to turn out! We're supposed to be downing pints, not mingling with left-wingers."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Oh, do lighten up, Mary. Look at it this way; you love to have an argument, and here is a room full of people who all vehemently disagree with your political principles. They're practically gift-wrapped."

Mary shrugged. "I suppose."

"Sybil, can I get you a glass of wine?"

"Thank you, Tom; that would be lovely!" Sybil replied before turning back to Mary.

"Thank you, Tom, for offering to get me one as well," Mary pretended to call after him.

Sybil frowned. "Really, Mary, bitterness doesn't suit you. All I want is to have a nice evening, so could you please at least try?"

 _Damn_ , Mary thought, _I never could resist those puppy eyes for long_.

"Fine. I'll occupy myself by annoying some socialists; you enjoy your evening with Tom."

It was worth it for the smile that burst onto Sybil's face. "Oh, thank you Mary!" She leant forwards, kissing her sister on the cheek. "I promise to spend all of tomorrow with you, every single minute!"

As Sybil went with Tom to talk to some of the other committee members, Mary made a beeline for where the wine was being served. She downed the first glass she was given in one, swiftly handing it over for a refill, ignoring the startled look of the server.

"Are you okay there?"

She turned, somewhat dizzily, to see a tall young man with blond hair, a classically handsome face and piercing blue eyes. He looked equal parts concerned and bemused at her behaviour, eyeing the second glass of wine that she held carefully.

"I'm as good as can be," she said, raising her glass. "Or at least, as good as can be when you've been dragged to one of these god-awful events by your politically-minded sister."

The man chuckled. "Ah, so… you're not particularly political, then?"

"I am when it suits me."

"Ah, I see." He looked at her quizzically. "Tell me, how did you vote in the last election?"

"Conservative, of course," she said, raising an eyebrow as if it should be obvious.

"Not so loud in here," he hushed her, "Or they'll hear you and demand that you pay more taxes. Although I would have guessed that you'd vote that way; I've never heard anyone with an accent like yours to vote any way _but_ Tory."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing; just that…" he trailed off.

"Just that what?"

"Just that you've probably led a very entitled, privileged life until now."

She scoffed at that. "Oh, yes, my life has been just fine and dandy. You're fairly well-spoken yourself; it's a bit rich for you to criticise me."

"I may have had a fairly privileged life, but at least I'm aware of it, and have some idea of how the other half live."

Mary was fuming, ready to explode, but after a few seconds of failing to think of a retort she backed down again, eyeing the man with equal parts suspicion and respect.

"Mary Grantham," she said eventually, holding her hand out. "English and Oriental Studies undergraduate, Downton College."

"I'm doing a Law postgraduate at Christ Church college," he said, shaking her hand. "Matthew Crawley."

 **Thank you for all the reviews (already!) on the first chapter - I've been a bit overwhelmed by the response! This chapter is a little shorter, but I'm not going to be able to write for the next week and I wanted to get this out.**

 **Please leave a review with your thoughts, it makes all the difference!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _In which Mary once again meets Matthew Crawley, and Thomas is distracted by a good-looking barista._

It was well past midnight by the time Mary finally persuaded Sybil that it was time to go back, and even then she only managed it because Tom had had to spend the rest of the night with the committee. Even Mary, usually unmoved by displays of affection, couldn't help but smile when he put out his hand for Sybil to shake, only for her to pull him into a hug and kiss him on the cheek, leaving a stammering Tom to an amused committee. It took another ten minutes or so to actually leave; everyone they passed was waving goodbye to Sybil, swapping numbers and email addresses. It seemed that, in a few hours, Sybil had somehow managed to become best friends with an entire society in a university that she wasn't even old enough to attend yet.

"Come on, Sybil," Mary groaned, tugging at her arm, dragging her towards the exit.

Sybil waved at the two people she'd been talking to as Mary continued to pull her away. "It was lovely to meet you both; best of luck with your petition!" She turned to her sister. "Really, Mary, that was rude; you could at least have let me finish the conversation."

"Tough," Mary said, not looking back. "Come on, we should get back. What would Papa say if he knew I'd let you spend the evening with the _Labour Society_ , hmm?"

"I'm an adult now, Mary!" Sybil said angrily, tugging her arm out of Mary's grip and waiting for Mary to turn to face her. "I can do what I like, and neither you nor Papa or anyone can tell me what to do!"

As she stormed off Mary sighed, running to catch up with her.

"Sybil, I - "

"Besides," Sybil said, turning round with a cheeky smile on her face. " _You_ spent the whole evening talking to that postgraduate student. He was _very_ good-looking. Care to share?"

Mary tried her best to look annoyed, but it was spoiled by the flush of colour in her face. _Damn that wine_ , she thought. "Oh, him? He's a law student. He was very quick to criticise; as you said, a gift-wrapped argument."

Sybil gave her a knowing look. "So, you're seeing him again, then?"

"What?" Mary spluttered, forgetting the argument they'd been having just a minute ago. "No, are you mad? I put up with him tonight for your sake. And besides; Thomas."

"Thomas," Sybil sighed to herself. "Mary, I wish you two - "

"You won't change my mind," Mary snapped as they reached Downton, pushing the door open. "Good, we're here before the door's locked. Hello, Mr Carson," she said to the porter on the night shift.

"Good evening, Miss Grantham," Mr Carson said formally, nodding to her. "And…"

"My sister, Sybil," Mary filled in, as Sybil smiled and gave a slight wave.

"…and Miss Grantham," Mr Carson finished, giving Mary a rare smile. "Will you be continuing the family tradition of coming here, to Downton College, Miss Grantham?" he said to Sybil.

"I don't think I'll have much choice," Sybil laughed. "Granny seems determined; I don't think she's forgiven Edith for going to Cambridge yet."

"Hmph," Mr Carson said, clearly of the opinion that their grandmother was completely correct to look down on Edith for going to _Cambridge_. "Well, I look forward to seeing you here. Now, you two had better be going off to bed, it's late."

"Goodnight, Carson."

They walked up to Mary's room in silence, not speaking until the light was off, Mary in bed and Sybil in a sleeping bag on the floor.

"Mary," Sybil asked quietly, sounding unsure, "What… what's Tom like? I mean, obviously I met him tonight, but you've known him for two years, so…"

"He's usually more talkative," Mary said, "You seem to have had quite the effect on him. He's very nice, though; everyone likes him, although he doesn't really have any friends. There's only so much the rest of us can cope with discussing politics."

"That's sad. That he doesn't really have friends, I mean."

"Yes, I suppose so."

There was a long silence, before Sybil said, "Mary, do you… do you think he likes me?"

Mary couldn't help but laugh at that. "Sybil, I think he's besotted." Even though it was dark, she knew that Sybil's face would be heating up. "And, for what it's worth; I think you two would be good together."

"Even though he's a socialist?"

"Even though he's a socialist."

"Mary?"

"Hmm?"

"About you and Thomas - "

"I'm not discussing that with you any longer."

"Oh. Okay."

* * *

Mary and Sybil spent the next day exploring Oxford with Thomas; seeing the sights, going round all the museums and bookshops, and meeting up with Tom for lunch. Once again, he was bashful and blushing around Sybil, struggling to string a sentence together. Somehow, though, he managed to hold a passable conversation with Sybil, and before long he'd relaxed enough that the conversation was coming more easily between them and they were happily putting the world to rights, completely oblivious to everything going on around them.

As Tom was telling Sybil about what Ireland was like, Thomas turned to Mary, quietly saying under his breath, "You know, this is the longest he's ever gone without bringing up politics. I've been timing; it's been at least eight minutes. The previous record was only three."

"It is amazing," Mary whispered back, watching her sister as she chatted away. "I mean, I never would have thought of introducing the two of them, but now they've met it seems like the most obvious thing in the world."

"Do you think," Thomas started, stammering slightly, "Do you think – do you think we all could have that? That everyone has someone else like that out there that they have that connection with?"

He'd dropped his usually confident and self-assured façade, looking doubtful and worried.

"Of course," Mary whispered, taking his hand. "There's someone out there for you, Thomas, I know there is. It will happen; I promise you. But until then? You've got me."

Tom stayed with them for the rest of the afternoon, happily pointing out his favourite spots around Oxford to Sybil as they wandered through the old streets, Sybil in turn pointing out everything that had been used in a film or mentioned in a book.

By late afternoon, Mary and Thomas were both exhausted but Sybil and Tom still seemed be full of energy as they went to the train station, Sybil's bags in hand.

"Let me know as soon as you get home," Mary said, pulling Sybil into an uncharacteristically tight hug.

Sybil sighed good-naturedly. "Of course I will!" She moved on to hug Thomas goodbye, who ruffled her hair while she giggled, screwing up her face.

"Stay out of trouble," he said as Sybil laughed.

"When have I ever got into trouble? I should be saying the same to you."

She turned to Tom who was looking rather lost.

"You've got my number?" she asked as she took his hand. He nodded, so she continued, "Okay. I'll see you soon, then." And she leant forwards and kissed him, as Mary and Thomas looked away awkwardly, not sure what to make of the situation.

After some throat-clearing from Mary and a supportive thumbs-up from Thomas, Sybil eventually tore herself away from Tom, waving at them as she went through the barrier. They carried on waving until she was out of sight, when a blushing Tom quickly called a 'See you later' and dashed out of the train station, not meeting their eyes. Thomas laughed at Mary's disgruntled expression, unable to hold it in any longer.

"Face it, Mary," he chuckled, "You've lost her to Branson. Tom Branson, of all people!"

Mary sighed dramatically. "Don't remind me. When did we become her parents, anyway? Now, I don't know about you, but I could murder a coffee."

They slowly sauntered out of the station and to the nearest Starbucks, enjoying the peace and quiet now that Tom and Sybil were gone. As lovely as it had spending time with them both (although Mary would always deny it), it was nice to be able to walk down a street without being quizzed on its history and areas of architectural interest.

Starbucks was unusually quiet, with only a couple of people in front of them in the queue, but that didn't stop Mary from grumbling.

"I hope this doesn't take much longer," she complained, looking at her watch every twenty seconds. "I have an assignment due in on Monday that I've barely started. What are they thinking, only having one barista? It's a Saturday!"

"Mary," Thomas interrupted, annoyed; the last thing he wanted was to hear Mary rant about anything and everything until she finally admitted what was bothering her. "I get it. You're annoyed that Sybil's got a boyfriend all of a sudden. Just don't take it out on the rest of us."

"Fine," Mary snapped, "Yes, I'm annoyed. But who does Tom think he is, swooping in and snatching up my baby sister? What right does he have - "

"Sybil's grown up now," Thomas replied, his temper rising at Mary's characteristic bluntness. "She's not your baby sister anymore. And besides, she could do a lot worse. I mean, look at you and Edith; it's not like either of you have a great track record with men. So far Tom's managed to make it past twelve hours without being hospitalised, which beats _your_ record, and you can't deny that he's better than Fake Patrick."

"We don't talk about Fake Patrick," Mary said on instinct.

"Sorry for your wait; can I take your order?"

They were interrupted by the barista, a good-looking young man with bright blue eyes and blond hair, carefully styled to look as if he'd got out of bed looking that way.

"Um," Thomas gaped, lost for words. "I, er, I mean, um, what – which - "

"I'll have a skinny latte – Mary – and he'll have a mocha, the name's - "

"Thomas," Thomas eventually stammered out, his eyes wide. "I'm, er, Thomas. And you, you're Jimmy!" He pointed towards the name badge on the barista's apron. The barista – Jimmy – nodded slowly, looking puzzled.

"A skinny latte and a mocha coming right up," he said, unsure, quickly backing away to the machines.

"Eyes back in your head, Barrow," Mary drawled under her breath, amused despite herself. "And, for the record? It's a bit rich of you to criticise my skills with men."

As soon as they'd sat down with their drinks, Thomas let his head fall onto the table with a _thump_. "Why, Mary?" he asked, head still on the table. "Why am I so bloody useless?"

"Because you haven't got any action in months – no, years," Mary replied without a second thought.

Slowly, Thomas lifted his head up until his chin was resting on the table as he looked out across the coffee shop.

"No one has the right to be that beautiful," he said under his breath, thinking out loud. Mary snorted, engrossed in her phone while she drank her latte. "I mean, just look at that face! And did you hear him speak? He's from Yorkshire, like me. And you, but you don't sound it. It's like we're meant to be or something."

"Dear Lord, you're like Edith when she was twelve. Besides, he's probably straight, and you'll probably never see him again, so stop worrying about it. You made a fool of yourself, now move on."

She looked up from her phone as Thomas groaned loudly.

"What?"

"Worse than straight," he said, dropping his forehead onto the table once more, spilling his drink with the force of it. "He's taken," he said in a muffled voice against the table-top.

Mary looked up quickly, gasping when she saw who had just come in, smiling and greeting the barista with familiarity. "No," she breathed, "Surely not?"

"What?" Thomas mumbled.

"It's him!" Mary sounded amazed. "It's him, I met him last night – what was his name, Matthew something? Crawley! Matthew Crawley!"

"And?"

"Well," Mary shrugged with an air of indifference that was clearly forced. "I just sort of… assumed he was a lady's man, that's all. He seemed rather… interested in me."

Thomas clearly couldn't care less about Mary's opinion. "Maybe he's into both, who knows. Or maybe it's been so long since anyone _actually_ flirted with you that you've forgotten what it's like. Ow."

Mary had kicked him under the table. "Maybe… maybe they're not together. They could just be friends?"

"Why do you care?" Thomas grumbled. "Fancy him or something?"

"Of course not," she scoffed, tossing her hair, but keeping a careful eye on the interaction between Matthew and the barista. Obviously the movement had caught Matthew's eye; he looked over, smiling as he recognised her and waving.

"Oh God, I think he's coming this way," Mary sighed, plastering on her best smile while Thomas still sulked. "This might be your chance to get some intel, you know. Look sharp."

Matthew was, indeed approaching them; but not before pausing to call to Jimmy, "I'll be back late tonight, so feel free to have dinner without me."

"They're together," Thomas intoned, his voice flat and dead. He forced himself to sit up as Matthew approached their table, taking a quick note of the way Mary's face had fallen at his observation.

In any other circumstances Thomas would have considered Matthew to be incredibly good-looking, but he couldn't help but compare him to Jimmy – and who wouldn't fall short at such a comparison? Already alarm bells were ringing in his head – he was besotted after one simple coffee order that had gone disastrously wrong – but he couldn't bring himself to back up.

"Hello, er, Mary, isn't it?" Matthew said as he reached their table, smiling nervously. "Do you mind if I…" He indicated a spare chair.

"Go ahead," Mary said, that signature Grantham smile still plastered on her face. "Thomas, this is Matthew, we met last night at that Labour society meeting. Matthew, this is Thomas. My boyfriend."

If she sounded a little too determined by the end, it went unnoticed.

"Oh." Matthew quickly busied himself with his drink. "Well, it's… it's nice to meet you Thomas."

"You too," Thomas replied, making it very clear in his tone that it was anything but.

Matthew's eyes flicked between them a few times, as if trying to work something out; after a few seconds he clearly reached a conclusion that he was happy with.

"Mary, I have to say that I enjoyed our conversation last night immensely, and I was hoping that you'd be willing to continue it sometime? Purely a friendly, intellectual debate, of course." His eyes caught Thomas' at the end, as if daring him to object.

Thomas couldn't have told anyone what made him say it, why he was so determined to get in the way; maybe it was bitterness at Mary making new friendships, or at his own complete failure at having a successful interaction with another man let alone a relationship, but he couldn't help it.

"You know, I'm very interested in politics too," he said snidely, feeling his lip curl up in his all-too-familiar smirk. "I'm sure I'd be able to weigh in."

He was perfectly aware that it didn't come across as protective, or even territorial, just petty, but he didn't really care. Mary was glaring daggers at him and Matthew looked thrown off guard, but that wasn't his problem.

"Well," Matthew stammered, trying to assess the situation, "How about you two both come over for dinner tomorrow night? Jimmy's cooking, so it's guaranteed to be delicious."

"That would be lovely," Mary said, pressing her heel into Thomas' foot to keep him quiet. "We will see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yes," Matthew stood up, clearly glad to be finished with the situation. "Say, half seven? I'll send you the address – oh, here's my number - "

It seemed to take much longer than was strictly necessary to exchange numbers, Thomas thought, as Matthew finally went on his way, waving goodbye to Jimmy as Mary's eyes followed him on his way out.

"Don't fancy him, my arse," Thomas said as Matthew left, the volume of Mary's laugh only proving him right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _In which Mary and Thomas visit Matthew and Jimmy for dinner, and Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes discuss the exact nature of Mary and Thomas' relationship._

"This is all your fault," Mary grumbled as she fixed her hair in the mirror. "If you hadn't been so eager to jump in, I could have met him for coffee once and got it over with. But no, you had to open your big mouth and now we're going for dinner. You know, I can think of many much, much better ways to spend a Sunday evening."

"Oh yeah, because you had plans coming out of your ears before I walked us into this." Thomas finished adjusting his tie from where he was sat on Mary's bed, slumped against the wall.

Mary huffed in a way that only she could. "Anything would be better than discussing politics with some left-wing postgraduate and his barista boyfriend who you're incapable of speaking to coherently."

Ducking his head to hide his embarrassment, Thomas replied, "Well, you didn't have to agree. I know it's against your socialite upbringing or something to turn down a dinner invitation, but you could have made something up. You could have said that one of us had an urgent appointment. Or that one of us was gluten-free! Then we would never be invited for dinner ever again. Or even that you were washing your bloody hair! No, this is as much your fault as it is mine."

Mary seemed to ponder something for a moment, before a small smile graced her face. "Well," she started uncertainly. It was very unusual for her to look uncertain about anything; whatever it was, Thomas thought, that she was about to say, it must be a sensitive topic. "Well, it – it couldn't hurt, could it? You know, for you to have friends like – well, like you."

Ah. That was where it was going.

"You mean gay?"

"Well, er, yes."

Thomas rolled his eyes in a way that was almost audible. "What, so I can learn to become my own little Pride parade? No, Mary – I'm not coming out!"

"That's not what I meant!" she said, whirling around to face him. "I just… well, you've never really known many other gay men. And I – I imagine it must be lonely. Even if you're not out; _especially_ if you're not out."

She didn't say anything more, but Thomas knew exactly what she wanted to say, exactly what she was thinking.

He fished a cigarette out of his pocket, more for something to do than anything else, and put it in his mouth, not lighting it. "You make a terrible hag. You're a much better beard."

"Fine; as long as you don't start spouting ridiculous metaphors at me," she said, eyeing the cigarette.

He looked offended even at the implication. "Honestly, Mary, I'm just getting ready to light it when we leave college. God knows I need it."

* * *

It was beginning to get dark when the door to the porter's office opened, startling Mrs Hughes.

"Good evening, Mr Carson!" she greeted him. "You're early!"

"No earlier than usual," Mr Carson replied. "I prefer to see it as being on time and prepared."

She smiled, warmly; she'd known Mr Carson for decades, and he had never changed. "Of course. But, as always, I still have fifteen minutes left of my shift. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh, yes please. Milk - "

" – and no sugar. Don't worry; I remember how you take your tea."

They must have had the same conversation every day for years now.

There was, as always, a comfortable silence as Mrs Hughes poured the tea, interrupted by the sound of students walking past.

"I've got the address; it's one of those postgraduate apartments that don't have enough room to swing a cat. They must be on top of each other all the time; they must be close, dear Lord this is going to be awful. Oh, good evening, Mrs Hughes; Mr Carson."

Both porters looked up to see Mary Grantham smiling in her usual, composed way, with Thomas Barrow clutching a lighter with a cigarette between his teeth, ready for the moment that they stepped through the college doors.

"Good evening, Miss Grantham, Mr Barrow. Are you off somewhere nice?"

"Dinner," Thomas growled shortly, clearly irritated.

"Yes; we'd better be off," Mary said, still with a practiced smile. "Have a good evening!"

They continued to sit in silence for a few seconds, waiting until they were certain that Mary and Thomas were out of earshot.

"There's definitely something odd between those two," Mr Carson said, shaking his head as he sat down. "I just can't put my finger on it."

"Now, that I definitely agree with," Mrs Hughes chuckled. "If you ask me, the sooner they stop this ridiculous charade they've got going on, the better!"

Mr Carson looked alarmed. "What on earth do you mean?"

"Surely you've noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"They're faking it!"

Face reddening, spluttering tea everywhere, Mr Carson drew himself up, shocked. "You mean that – you're saying – but that's preposterous!"

Glancing at the clock, Mrs Hughes sighed, finished her tea, and stood up. "Well, that's my shift over. You know, Mr Carson, we could be invisible for all the students care; you don't have to pay much attention to pick up all sorts of secrets that are whispered as they walk past this lodge, acting as if there's no one there. You might hear something that interests you."

And with that, she was gone.

* * *

It was a still, quiet evening, not too dark even though it was October, the smoke from Thomas' cigarette the only thing disturbing the clear night air.

Mary huffed as Thomas took the last few drags, stubbing it out at the nearest bin. "I do wish you wouldn't smoke those things; no one smokes anymore, it's simply not done."

"Not everyone lives their life by the latest fashions," Thomas said. "Besides, would you rather I took up those awful electronic things? Then you'd have a hipster fake-boyfriend, and what could be worse than _that_?"

Ignoring his sarcasm, she continued, "Okay, ground rules. We mustn't offend anyone, even if they are socialists. We are guests, and should act like it."

"Did I tell you that I voted Labour at the last election?"

Mary looked thrown for a second, as if the thought hadn't occurred to her, but she quickly regained her composure. "Well, of course, you're – well - "

"Common?"

"That's not quite how I would have put it, but – anyway. Rules. We have to be a convincing couple. We don't need any of the quite frankly excessive displays of affections that my parents seem to expect, but we still need to give a convincing display."

"I know how to pretend; we've been pretending for two years already and no one has guessed so far."

"I know, but pretending includes all sorts of other things, such as not making comments about how no one flirts with me or what it's like being single; remember, we're not supposed to know."

"Bloody hell, I need another smoke." Thomas pulled another cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. "I've got it, Mary; you don't need to lecture me."

"It also includes," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "Not ogling Jimmy, and pretending that you're capable of at least some level of conversation. Normally I'd be all for you flirting, but he thinks you're straight and he has a boyfriend, so keep it in your trousers."

"Fine, fine, I've got it!" Thomas exclaimed. "Jesus, from the way you're talking you'd think I _hadn't_ been in the closet for twenty years already. I know what I'm doing, Mary. And perhaps I should remind _you_ to keep your eyes in your head as well?"

"Oh look, we're here!" Mary said loudly, interrupting him and ringing the bell for the right flat. After a few seconds, including the unmistakeable sound of someone running down the stairs, the door was opened by Matthew.

"Hello, Mary, Thomas," he said. Thomas did a double take; the carefully-composed smile that Matthew had plastered on his face was almost worthy of a Grantham.

Mary flashed an identical smile back. "Good evening, Matthew. I hope you are well?"

"Very," Matthew replied, his face still unmoving.

Thomas cleared his throat. "We brought wine," he grunted, holding out the bottle that Mary had provided, probably costing more than his food for a week.

"How wonderful; do come on in." Matthew ushered them into the building, leading them up the stairs. "Isn't the weather lovely this evening?"

It was perhaps the most painfully British conversation that Thomas had ever been a part of, and that was saying something.

As predicted, the flat was tiny; there was one small bedroom, and a living area that, had it been larger, could have been called open plan. As it was, it was really a kitchenette with a television stuck in one corner and an old sofa against the wall. A folding table had been put up in the middle of the room with a table cloth thrown over it, leaving just enough space for them to creep along the wall and slide into a seat.

Jimmy was leant over the stove, stirring a simmering pan. He turned round as they came in, greeting them. "Hello! You must be Mary and, er, Thomas." He looked slightly nervous as he met Thomas' eyes, clearly worried that he was going to be subject to another display of stammering.

"Hello," Thomas replied, normal enough for Jimmy to be put at ease, and if his smile was larger than usual then Mary didn't say anything.

They gave their coats to Matthew as they sat down, Mary all the while making suitably impressed comments about how lovely the place was.

"Dinner is served!" Jimmy took the pan off the stove, placing it in the middle of the table. "I hope you all like risotto."

"It looks and smells delicious, thank you!" Thomas said, uncharacteristically cheerful, earning him a quick kick and sharp look from Mary.

Jimmy only smiled back nervously. "Oh, well, it was my pleasure!"

"So, Mary, Matthew tells me that you're interested in politics?" Jimmy asked once they were all sat down and had started eating.

"Oh, not really," Mary laughed lightly. "I mean, of course I have an interest – it's important to know at least _something_ about these things – but I can't say I'm particularly invested in it. The only reason I was at that meeting in the first place was because my sister needed chaperoning."

"Chaperoning?" Matthew asked, amused. "I didn't realise anyone was chaperoned anywhere anymore."

"Well, she was going with Tom Branson, so you understand I had to look out for her," Mary retorted back, clearly irritated at Matthew's amusement.

At this, though, Matthew laughed loudly. "Your sister's dating Tom Branson? I would love to be a fly on the wall at those family dinners. She must be, er, rather different from you, then?"

Thomas snorted. "You can say that again. Sybil is one of the kindest people you could ever meet, and then there's Medusa here. Chalk and cheese."

"Sounds like you're dating the wrong sister," Jimmy laughed.

"Yeah." Thomas attempted a smile, but with all the humour gone from his face it was more like a grimace.

There was a long pause as an awkward hush fell over the table, no one knowing what to say.

Eventually, Matthew cleared his throat. "So, um… how did you two meet?"

 _Finally_ , Thomas thought, _Small talk. Mary's great at this._

"We went to school together," Mary said, right on cue, looking at Thomas with what they referred to as their 'couple look'.

"That's right." They'd told this story so many times that, by now, it was well-rehearsed. Repressing his nausea from Mary's sickeningly doting face, Thomas continued, "We were best friends from year seven, thick as thieves. After we left, we…"

"…we realised that there was no point in putting it off any longer!" Mary finished, giving Jimmy and Matthew that awful grin that she supposed made her look besotted. "What about – what about you two?"

"We've known each other since we were kids," Matthew said, ruffling Jimmy's hair. Glaring daggers at Matthew, Jimmy carefully fixed it, rearranging it to how it was before, every strand in place. "Jimmy's mum was my nanny, so we practically grew up together."

"You two are as bad as each other." Thomas indicated with his wine glass between Thomas and Mary. "Nannies and tutors and all that. It's like there's no point to having parents."

Mary quickly realised that Thomas had put his foot in it once again, and interjected. "So, er… when did you two get together?"

She jumped, however, as Jimmy spat wine all over the table, choking and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Wh-what?!" He eventually stammered out.

Matthew only laughed. "Oh, we're not together! No, we're just friends; Jimmy's like my brother. He's just staying here for a bit while he gets on his feet; we tidied up before you came, but usually there's a sleeping bag on the sofa for him."

"Oh – oh dear." Mary attempted to hide her embarrassment by taking a sip of her wine. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to – I just assumed - "

Waving it off, Matthew said, "Oh, it's fine, really! Quite funny, really, don't you think, Jimmy?"

Jimmy nodded, but seemed unconvinced. "Oh, yeah – it's, er, hilarious."

"Are you sure? What's wrong?" Matthew asked after a second.

Shrugging, Jimmy said, "Oh, nothing!" He forced a smile. "It is quite funny really, isn't it? That, you know, that you two thought we were, um, that way inclined."

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw Thomas, who had perked up at the news of Jimmy's status as a single man, visibly deflate.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Jimmy said quickly, sensing that he might have said something wrong. "It – it is pretty funny!" Even he, though, seemed to realise that his comment had managed to suck all of the humour out of the conversation.

"Do you have a girlfriend, then?" Mary asked tentatively, and Thomas felt a weight settle in the pit of his stomach at the question, which lessened only slightly when Jimmy shook his head.

"No, not at the moment."

'Not at the moment'. As if he just rotated girlfriends on a regular basis. _He probably does_ , Thomas thought sourly. _A face like that. Women must fall at his feet._

 _Just like you did._ Another voice came into his head before he could silence it.

"Thomas, are you quite alright?"

Jerked out of his thoughts, he looked up to see Matthew looking at him, concerned. He realised that he'd been sat completely still, gripping his wine glass so hard that it almost cracked, staring down at his plate.

"Yes, thank you."

Mary, ever the champion of diverting conversation, piped up, "Do either of you have any siblings?"

Both Matthew and Jimmy shook their heads.

"Well, I have this awful sister, Edith…"

Mary's rather unflattering descriptions of Edith, interrupted only by Thomas agreeing or disagreeing with particular points, soon had both Jimmy and Matthew chuckling, the tension released if not broken. Occasionally Matthew would berate her for being cruel towards her sister, but it had little to no effect; Mary carried on, and before long they were all swapping entertaining anecdotes. They soon finished the bottle of wine that Mary had brought, and a couple of other (much cheaper) bottles from Matthew's store were opened.

The wine certainly added to the laughter as Jimmy began to tell stories from his days as a pool-cleaner; not a particularly lucrative business in England.

"So there we are, and she's not bad-looking for her age, but still, you know, getting on a bit, and she's basically attacked me in the pool house when her _husband_ comes in - "

Even Thomas was laughing at the thought.

"So I'm there, we're both half-naked, and I'm shouting 'It's not what it looks like, Mr Anstruther, it's not what it looks like' as if I'm some bleeding barmaid or something! He literally threw me into the pool, and Mrs Anstruther went off on the whole, 'You don't give me any attention anymore, are you even surprised' spiel."

"What did you do?" Mary giggled, cheeks pink from the wine.

"Ran for it, of course! Grabbed my trousers and ran!"

They all fell about laughing for a few minutes at the image of Jimmy running through the English countryside in just his pants.

"Matthew, you should tell them about Lavinia!" Jimmy managed to force out between laughs as Matthew went bright red.

"No, I really don't want to - "

"Ha ha, that's what she said!"

"That is _not_ what she said," Matthew tried his best to look affronted. "We just… well, she was the hottest girl in the year, you know? And when she invited me into the storage cupboard after school… I wasn't going to say no, not a chance! There we were, making out, but, um…"

"But he couldn't get it up!" Jimmy snorted out, clearly impatient for the punchline. "Hottest girl in the year and he couldn't get it up!"

"It happens to the best of us," Thomas said dryly, somehow still keeping his composure despite the wine.

"I bet, er, you two have some great stories, hmm?" Jimmy said, indicating eagerly between Thomas and Mary.

"Oh, er," Thomas stammered, "I, um… well, er – oh, Mary's got a great one about a Turkish exchange student - "

"Which we will save for another day," Mary quickly interjected. "I would tell you about Edith's Fake Patrick, but - "

"We don't talk about Fake Patrick," she and Thomas finished at the same time.

There was a moment's silence before all four of them burst into giggles.

"We should go home," Mary eventually said between giggles, standing up. "Well, we've had a lovely evening – oh, screw polite society! We've had a bloody fantastic time!"

"Bloody fantastic!" Jimmy echoed, still laughing. "Wow, we're really letting our hair down here!"

Stumbling, they made their way to the door, eventually finding Mary and Thomas' coats.

"You know," Mary said to Matthew before they left, her words starting to slide together, "Thomas thinks I fancy you. But he's wrong! I keep telling him, he's wrong!" She sloppily kissed a stunned Matthew on the cheek before heading out the door, struggling to find the sleeve of her coat.

"Thanks," said an embarrassed Thomas, much better at holding his alcohol than Mary. "I'll, er, see you both around, then."

And they were gone.

 **Thank you for reading! Please leave a review :)**

 **Find me on tumblr: singing-fangirl**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 _In which Mary is hungover and Thomas once again sees Jimmy, before receiving unwanted life advice._

"Oh, God, my head," Mary groaned over her breakfast.

"Serves you right," Thomas said dryly, not looking up from his book while he shovelled bacon in his mouth. "You didn't exactly hold back last night, did you?"

Slowly, Mary lifted her head from her hands, looking at Thomas blearily. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, well, nothing really, just - "

" _What do you mean?!"_

"Well," Thomas started, a smirk quickly growing across his face. "Really, Mary, I'm surprised you don't remember!"

" _Tell me - "_

"Okay, okay, keep your hair on! Well, on the way out you told Matthew that you definitely didn't fancy him."

Mary looked taken aback. "Oh – well – that's not too bad, is it?"

"No, you were almost convincing. Until you practically made out with his cheek."

" _WHAT?!_ "

A few people around them blearily looked up from their food.

"What do you mean?" Mary hissed, leaning forwards before her face suddenly fell. "Oh, no, it's coming back to me… dear God."

"Yup."

"What – what did I - "

"Yup."

"That's it. I'm never drinking again."

"You said that last time."

"How can I ever look him in the eye again?"

Thomas smiled smugly. "Well, there's a simple solution to that."

"There is?"

"Yes," Thomas said. "Never see him ever again. Now, if you'll excuse me, some of us actually have lectures to go to."

* * *

Thomas had always got the impression that Mary wasn't really fussed about lectures and classes. She'd go, of course, and take notes and do the work, getting annoyingly high marks, but he always felt like her heart wasn't in it. That she found it interesting, but would much rather be in rowing practice or seeing friends.

That wasn't the case with him. He loved learning, he loved his subject, he loved all the lectures and classes and tutorials. When they had deadlines coming up, he'd be the first in the workshop when it opened in the morning and the last to leave it at night, constantly building and experimenting. As a result, he didn't really know many of his classmates, not usually hanging around to get to know them, but he didn't mind that. There were certainly worse things.

The morning flew by, an almost-complete miniature suspension bridge assembled by midday, and he went for lunch. He usually ate while he worked, or sat apart from his classmates in the canteen, but without thinking too much about it he went out to go to Starbucks. Thomas was well aware that, if he thought too much about the change in routine, he would manage to talk himself out of it.

After all, maybe Jimmy wouldn't be there. There was no guarantee, right? He could just be… going to Starbucks. It wasn't exactly an unusual place to go. And if Jimmy happened to be working at the time, then that was a happy coincidence, wasn't it?

There was something about Jimmy – not just his looks, but something else that Thomas couldn't put his finger on. So Jimmy was unattainable; he wasn't really surprised, and it was probably better in the long run to find out now, before he made a fool of himself. But just because he couldn't have Jimmy as a boyfriend didn't mean that he couldn't be his friend, and Thomas was, for some reason that he couldn't explain, determined (or even desperate) to achieve at least a friendship; he couldn't seem to stay away. And, who knows; maybe once he was friends with Jimmy he'd know him well enough to suddenly stop finding him attractive or something.

Or at least, that's what he told himself.

He was halfway there when he realised what a stupid idea this was. What was he going to say? If there was anything he'd proven lately it was that he was incapable of holding a successful conversation without Mary there to patch up his mistakes. Maybe it would be better if Jimmy wasn't there? Then he could just get his lunch, regret spending so much of his weekly budget on an overpriced sandwich, and carry on with his day. It would certainly be easier; he wouldn't have to pretend that he was straight, that he and Mary…

More and more he was beginning to regret ever entering into this farcical arrangement with Mary in the first place, but every time the thought crossed his mind it was drowned out by the rest of his brain, loudly shouting at him to stay hidden, to keep his secrets for as long as possible. Needless to say, it didn't make the thought of seeing Jimmy any easier.

Thomas wasn't sure if he was relieved or not when he saw that Jimmy was, in fact, working that lunchtime. It was made better when Jimmy smiled and waved upon seeing him, greeting him when he came up to give his order.

"Hiya Thomas, how're you doing?" Jimmy asked as Thomas reached the counter.

Thomas smiled back, trying his best to look like it was a friendly greeting and not a nervous crush-induced grin. "I'm great, thanks, and yourself?"

"Not bad, not bad. What can I get you?"

Thomas gave his order, breathing an internal sigh of relief when he got to the end without any stammering or awkward outbursts, ignoring that Jimmy seemed to look equally relieved.

"That'll be five ninety-five," Jimmy said as Thomas handed him a ten-pound note. "Hey, I go on my break in fifteen minutes or so. Mind if I join you?"

Thomas felt the colour rush to his face. "S-sure, yeah, that would be, er, cool."

 _Damn_ , he thought as he sat down, _nearly made it without too many screw-ups._

True to his word, after a quarter of an hour Jimmy came and sat with him, eating his own lunch.

"Last night was great fun, wasn't it?" Jimmy said. "Although I was a little worse for wear this morning! And hey, Mary's completely up her own arse most of the time, but after a few drinks she's great!"

"Yeah, she's, er, she's great." Thomas said around his sandwich.

Jimmy suddenly seemed to realise that he'd said something wrong. "Oh, no, mate, I know she's your girlfriend and everything, I didn't mean to - "

"It's fine, really."

'Mate'. Thomas hated how much that hurt.

"So, er," Jimmy cleared his throat in a way that, on anyone else, would be put down to nerves. "You guys are really cool, we should all hang out again sometime, you know? Go for a drink or something."

"Yeah." Thomas dared a smile. It was something, at least. "Yeah, that would be great."

"Awesome." Stuffing more of his sandwich in his mouth, Jimmy continued, "So, you're at Downton College, was it?"

"Yeah, I'm reading Engineering."

"Wow, awesome!" Jimmy's face lit up. "So, what, you build stuff?"

Thomas laughed at that. "Yeah, I build stuff; at least if you ask Mary! But we do other stuff as well; although we do have to build something, it's mostly studying. We've just started looking at particle accelerators."

"Sounds impressive! I wouldn't really know where to start with all that, I left school at sixteen. Still not sure what I really want to do, you know? Long term."

Swallowing the last bite of his sandwich, Thomas brushed his hands over his plate and began sipping his coffee. "Well, what do you enjoy doing?"

Jimmy looked taken aback, as if no one had thought to ask him that before. "Oh, well, I… you know, this is fine."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. "Really? You wake up each morning and all you want to do is serve coffee?"

"It's not bad," Jimmy shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Well, if you must know… I used to like playing the piano."

"Really?" At Jimmy's glare Thomas did his best to not look surprised. "No, that's… that's great, I just didn't expect it at all."

"Yeah, well, I was good. Really good, I won competitions at school and stuff, but… well, I got free lessons at school, you know? Because my mum didn't earn much. And I could practice as much as I wanted at lunch, and Mrs Crawley – Matthew's mum – used to sometimes let me practice on their piano when I went round, but after I left school it sort of… petered out. I wasn't having lessons anymore so I didn't have much new to practice, so I just stopped. I didn't mean to; I just realised one day that I hadn't played in six months, and, well, to tell you the truth I was afraid that I'd be terrible if I went back after all that time. So I haven't played since."

Squashing the urge to reach across the table to take Jimmy's hand, Thomas settled for a reassuring smile. "I'm sure you're brilliant; I bet if you sat down at a piano it would all come flooding back to you. You could take it up again, you know?"

"But how?" Jimmy shrugged, more resigned than angry. "I can't afford lessons, and I haven't got a piano."

Thomas couldn't think of anything to say to that.

"That's my lunch break over," Jimmy said after a few long moments, still looking downtrodden. He stood up, collecting his rubbish together. "Hey, do you… you like _Doctor Who_?"

"Do I like _Doctor Who_ ," Thomas scoffed. "I love it!"

"Great!" Jimmy looked oddly relieved. "Well, new series starts Saturday… fancy coming over, watching some old episodes before the new one?"

"That sounds awesome!" Quickly clearing his throat, Thomas tried to play it cool. "I mean, yeah, sure, that sounds great."

"Okay, well I'll, er, see you then? Oh, and Mary's welcome to come along as well, and Matthew will probably be there, it being his place and all."

Oh. He'd almost forgotten about Mary.

"Great, I'll… I'll tell her. Although I don't think it's really her thing."

"I can imagine!" Jimmy laughed awkwardly. "Well, I'd better be getting on. See you Saturday!"

"Yeah, er, see you Saturday."

* * *

Thomas was distracted for the rest of the afternoon, struggling to focus on what the lecturer was saying. He was briefly brought round to reality by the boy next to him, someone in thick glasses who he didn't recognise, asked if he could borrow a pen, but otherwise he couldn't keep his mind focussed. Every thought somehow, eventually, made its way back to Jimmy; to his smile, his laugh, even his stupidly perfect hair.

How on earth was he going to spend an entire afternoon with him at the weekend?

He ended up spending so much time at the library, desperately trying to make the notes he'd made in his lectures make any sort of sense, that he missed dinner at the college, only realising once nine o'clock had been and gone that he'd missed the main meal. Eventually he trudged back to college, the thought of the leftovers (which were always unfairly delicious) keeping him going as he pulled his coat around him, the autumn air whipping around him.

He was greeted at the porter's lodge by Mr Carson, who seemed to be studying him intently. They exchanged a curt greeting, but it didn't stop Mr Carson from looking at him quizzically; Thomas couldn't help but wonder what he'd done wrong, although he couldn't really bring himself to care enough to ask.

As predicted, dinner had finished, but the kitchen was still open, bustling and busy as they cleaned up at the end of the day.

"Mrs Patmore?" Thomas called, poking his head around the corner of the kitchen door.

"Ah, good evening, Thomas!" she said as she saw him. "It's been a while since you're come here for a late night snack!"

Thomas and Mrs Patmore, the college cook, had an odd relationship. She was always ready and willing to give leftovers to any latecomers, and Thomas was one of her best customers in that regard, but he always felt like she didn't quite trust him; that perhaps, she was so eager to keep giving him food because it meant that she could keep him close and keep an eye on him. He suspected that it had something to do with one of the junior cooks, who had had her eye on him since he started – not that he was going to tell Mrs Patmore why nothing was ever going to come of it.

"Late night at the library," he said in way of explanation. "I would still be there but I couldn't pass up on the food!"

She began plating up some pie and vegetables, putting them in the microwave.

"Microwaved is better than nothing," she said, more to herself than to anyone else. "Now, Thomas, you make sure not to work yourself too hard this year."

"I'll be fine, Mrs Patmore." Somehow the food made up for the life advice whenever you went to see Mrs Patmore.

"I mean it! Every year I see it; it's the ones like you, so locked in their own head that they drive themselves crazy in their final year. Just remember to keep it all in perspective, yeah? Don't ruin your life over a few grades."

"As ever, Mrs Patmore, your advice is as useful as it is asked for," Thomas said dryly.

She harrumphed loudly, smoothing down her apron. "Well, be like that, if you must. Just little old me trying to help."

She turned as the microwave finished, handing his Thomas his reheated pie and vegetables. "Now, eat up! You're fading away, you are."

Even reheated, Mrs Patmore's cooking was, as ever, spectacular, and it felt to Thomas like within a matter of seconds he'd managed to demolish the entire plate before he went back to his room, determined to find something to distract himself with something before he went to sleep.

As he walked through the quad, he paused as he heard the beginnings of compline coming from the chapel, the rich chords from the organ matching the clear, crisp sounds of the choir. He'd never sat through a service there – he and religion had never really seen eye to eye – but he had always liked to listen from outside to the music as it echoed around, filling every corner of the chapel. More than once he thought that perhaps the chaplain had seen him lurking in the doorway, but he had never said anything. Thomas did the same tonight, standing in the shadows of the entrance, close enough to hear the music but not quite a part of it.

The chapel was, undeniably, a beautiful building; its ornate ceiling, the gilded walls, the carved pews. It was with a pang that he remembered that it had been paid for by one of Mary's ancestors, a harsh reminder of just quite how different she was from him.

As the singing ended and the priest began to talk, he took one last glance around before leaving, when something caught his eye; there, in the corner, under its cover, was a grand piano.

And Thomas had an idea.

 **Thank you for reading! Please do leave a review with your thoughts :)**

 **Find me on tumblr: singing-fangirl**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 _In which Mary finally faces Matthew again, and Mrs Hughes once again drops hints to Mr Carson._

Mary managed for over a week to stay away from Matthew. It wasn't particularly hard; they'd gone two years living in the same city before they even met – their paths weren't likely to cross. Even so, she'd made a point of avoiding any places she was likely to bump into him, such as the Starbucks Jimmy worked at, the street he lived on, or the library by the Law department.

The closest she'd gotten to seeing him had been at the weekend, when Thomas had been trying to persuade her to go with him to Matthew and Jimmy's.

"It's just watching the telly, it won't be that bad!" Thomas had insisted.

"If it won't be that bad, then why are you so eager for me to accompany you?" She'd shot back, and that had been that.

To start with, she'd spent every minute looking over her shoulder, dreading the moment she saw Matthew. Occasionally she'd see someone who looked like him and for a second she'd think that he was there, but then she'd realise that he had darker hair or brown eyes or was just a little bit too short, and she'd sigh in relief, ignoring the little flare of disappointment that flickered when she realised that it wasn't him.

After a few days, though, it began to prey less on her mind. She stopped spending every breakfast planning her day around likely 'Matthew-spots', as she'd dubbed them in her mind, or poking her head around every bookcase in the library before choosing a desk to work at.

Thomas had returned from his afternoon with Jimmy subdued, perhaps even snarkier than usual, snapping at her for every slightest thing. This was by no means the first time Thomas had had a crush, of course, but it was the first time in a few years that she had seen him this bad. Perhaps this was what she had to look forward to, now; it was common knowledge among anyone who knew Thomas even vaguely well that the ruder he was, the more he was repressing his feelings. It was a running joke among them – or at least, for Mary it was – but even she was struggling to roll her eyes and brush it off this time. When it came down to it Thomas had only known Jimmy for a few days, but it was obvious already that he was smitten.

As the week following his visit went on he became more and more unbearable, spending every breakfast snapping at anyone who even looked at him the wrong way until everyone started giving him and Mary a wide berth. Even Tom Branson had stopped inviting himself to join them, his rambling monologue switching between the latest political news and his plans for the next time he saw Sybil, pausing only to occasionally ask Mary for advice. After Thomas handed him a bowl of potatoes one evening and told him to 'Shut up and take them back to Ireland with you', even he left them well alone, grumbling under his breath with the effect only slightly ruined by the fact that he was still carrying the bowl of potatoes.

Needless to say, Thomas' foul mood was infectious, and by the end of the week she was as grumpy as he was. She walked to lectures muttering not-so-quietly about anyone who dared cross her path, be it criticising their walking pace or their number of tattoos. She'd already been thrown out of two libraries that day for being too disruptive after snapping at other students for having headphones, and had stormed out of a coffee shop after they said they'd run out of skimmed milk, and was semi-skimmed okay?

So when someone called her name as she huffed down the street, even angrier when she remembered she'd forgotten her latte, milk or no milk, she whipped around, snapping "What?!"

"Erm, sorry?" It was Matthew. He looked somewhat alarmed by her reaction, his eyes wide and hands up in mock-surrender.

She sighed, exasperated at herself, her shoulders slumping when she realised who it was. "Matthew, I'm – I'm sorry, I've just had a bit of a rough day."

"You don't say!" Matthew laughed lightly. "I would ask how you're doing, but I think that's fairly obvious."

They slowly started to walk together, a carefully calculated distance between them. It occurred to Mary that, if she really wanted to, she could just reach out and take his hand. That is, if she wanted to.

"I'd like to apologise," Mary said after a few moments, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "For the last time I saw you. I had had a bit too much to drink, and as such acted out of character."

Matthew started to chuckle under his breath, leading Mary to turn to him, glaring. "What's so funny?!" she asked indignantly.

"It's just," he said through his laughter, "It's just that that is the most pretentious yet strangely honest apology for someone's drunk behaviour that I've ever heard."

Her resolve couldn't last for long, and after a few seconds she herself started to laugh, smiling in a way that she hadn't in months, if not years. She hadn't laughed like this, with someone else, in a very long time. It wasn't the uncontrollable hysterics when someone tripped and fell in the dining hall, or the cold, slightly derisive laughter that she often shared with Thomas, usually at someone else's expense. But as she and Matthew continued to walk together, giggling over something that, in reality, wasn't all that funny, she couldn't help but feel that something this time was different.

After they'd both eventually stopped laughing, Matthew began to speak. "I just wanted to ask – this is a bit awkward, really – but, well, you _did_ say that Thomas thought you fancied me. Which is ridiculous, of course! But I just wanted to check, is… is he okay with us being friends? I mean, I don't want to tread on any toes, or anything."

For a few seconds, Mary looked at him completely blankly, trying to work out what on earth he meant. Why would Thomas be jealous? What would Thomas be jealous _of_?

As Matthew carried on looking at her, completely confused, it came back to her. "Oh, Thomas? No, he's, er, he's not the jealous type." She cleared her throat awkwardly, determined to release some of the tension that had crept its way into their conversation. "Besides, I wouldn't go out with anyone who was like that; nothing worse than having someone looking out for potential infidelities around every corner!"

Matthew didn't look entirely convinced (which was unsurprising, given that Mary hadn't been particularly convincing) but smiled and nodded anyway. "Good. I didn't want to get in the way of anything, that's all."

"Not at all," Mary said, surprising herself by how much she meant it, and determinedly not thinking about how long it had taken her to remember about a relationship that she had, at least officially, been in for the last two years.

Matthew stopped walking, and she realised that they were outside the Law department. "Well, Mary, I'll, er, I'll see you around."

"Yes," she smiled. "See you around."

* * *

From then on, Mary couldn't seem to stop running into Matthew. He'd taken to walking along the river every Saturday morning where she had her rowing practice; it had completely thrown her off guard the first time, but now it was more unnerving when he _wasn't_ there. There were times during the week that their timetables almost crossed each other, and every time he'd say something about taking the 'scenic route' which had caused him to go an extra ten minutes out of his way so they could walk together. And if Mary had switched supermarkets so she went to the one that was closer to his flat? Well, it was simply that she preferred the food they had there; no other motive whatsoever.

It was natural, she thought, to want to spend time with someone who wasn't Thomas, especially with how he'd been acting since he'd met Jimmy. Whenever he was with Jimmy he was as pleasant as could be, but he was becoming increasingly irritable when they were apart, and even Mary was finding it difficult to deal with. It was only now that she had started actively avoiding Thomas (although she'd never admit it) that she realised that, apart from him, she'd never really made any friends. She had in the past got along well enough with Tom Branson, if she really made an effort, but that had been before he'd started dating Sybil. It didn't take long for her to realise that her tactic over the last two years of making sure that the primary emotion anyone associated with her was fear did not turn out to be lucrative when she actually _wanted_ to get to know them, as effective as it had been when she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. There were plenty of young men, of course, who were eager to spend time with her when they realised that perhaps Thomas might be on the way out, and it was fun to dangle her affections in front of them with a string for an evening or two, but it wasn't quite the same.

With Matthew, though, things were different. For a start, he still seemed to be under the impression that she and Thomas were still happily in relationship paradise, and had shown no inclination to change that. He'd seen her with her teeth bared but, rather than been scared away, had been drawn in, insisting on their friendship no matter what. And she would never admit it to anyone, but something about being around Matthew made her… better. She felt, when she was with him, like she had the potential to be a good, nice, decent person – and, what's more, she actually wanted to be.

* * *

Elsie Hughes pushed open the door into the porter's lodge, carefully placing her handbag on the desk. "Good morning, Mr Carson!" she greeted him warmly. "How was the night shift?"

"Oh, well, the usual," Mr Carson replied in his usual growl. "At least, the usual for the last week of term. Drunken students wandering in at all hours, singing Christmas songs at the tops of their voices – in only the very loosest definition of singing, of course."

Chuckling to herself, Mrs Hughes pulled up the spare chair. "Well, students will never change! Although I don't envy you, I'd much prefer to see them off and trust that you'll do the rest."

"Well, I try," Mr Carson huffed, leaning back in his chair. "You know, Mrs Hughes; I've been thinking a lot about what you said to me a few weeks ago. About Mary Grantham and Thomas Barrow, that is."

"Yes?" Mrs Hughes said expectantly.

"Yes, well, I've been, um, observing them as you suggested."

"And?"

There was a long silence before Mr Carson spoke again. "And… and I suppose I have to agree with you. There isn't something quite right about that relationship, especially recently. They're hardly ever seen together anymore, and when they are they always seem to be quite at odds with each other. I've never seen anything that might possibly imply that they have now or, indeed, have ever had any romantic feelings for each other. As such, I've been forced to conclude that they are, as you said, pretending. The only question is… why?"

"Well Mr Carson," Mrs Hughes said, smiling knowingly, "I expect that, should you observe them some more, you might work that out for yourself. Now, off with you! Time for you to get some sleep; my shift starts soon."

And Mrs Hughes very carefully pretended not to notice when Mr Carson lingered in the door for a second, glancing back at her, and she pretended that she wasn't affected by it. Not in the slightest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 _In which Mary, Thomas and Matthew prepare to go home for the Christmas holidays, and gifts are exchanged._

Christmas seemed to arrive earlier every single year, and this year was no exception. It felt like the decorations had been up in the shops since August, the whole term spent counting down the days to the end of November when they would be able to go home.

The holidays had never been the highlights of Mary's year. While, initially, it was nice to be home in her own bed, with someone else to do the cleaning and the laundry, the novelty usually wore off after a couple of days – or her first fight with Edith, whichever came first. She knew that this year would be no different.

Before she knew it, it was the last day of term and she'd just finished her final lecture of the Friday. After dropping off her bag in her room, she made her way through the college to Thomas' room, steeling herself for the doubtless terse conversation. This was by no means the first time that Thomas had shut himself off, lashing out at anyone who crossed his path in an attempt to hide his feelings, but it had been a few years since it had last been this bad, and they'd never gone this long without talking before. The last thing Mary wanted was to go home without being on speaking terms, putting off their inevitable confrontation for another couple of weeks.

She turned into the corridor to Thomas' room just as a door opened, revealing Tom Branson dragging a suitcase behind him.

"Hello, Mary!" He greeted, not looking at all bothered that he received only a polite smile and wave in return. "Are you here to see Thomas?" He looked slightly nervous at this last suggestion, as if even mentioning Thomas' name would cause him to come out of his room in a rage.

"Yes, I am," Mary said politely, before nodding towards his suitcase. "Are you off already? We haven't even had the end-of-term formal."

Tom shrugged. "Tonight was a cheaper flight back to Ireland, I figured I could miss one fancy meal. But I'll be back soon, though; did Sybil tell you I was visiting over the holiday?"

For a second, Mary was caught out by his announcement, but she didn't let it show. "Oh, really? No, she didn't mention it, but – well, it will be wonderful to have you."

"Then I look forward to it!" Locking up his room, Tom tugged his suitcase down the corridor. "Mary, do you… do you think that your parents will like me?"

He looked oddly nervous and out of sorts, and Mary briefly felt for him. "Of course they will," she smiled. "Nothing to worry about."

 _An Irish socialist_ , she thought as he left. _Yes, they'll_ _ **love**_ _that_.

There was no answer but a noncommittal grunt when Mary knocked on Thomas' door, so she let herself in regardless.

"Hello, stranger," she said, forcing a smile on her face. "How are you?"

Thomas didn't look up from where he was packing his suitcase. "Perfectly fine, thank you Mary," he said dryly, busying himself in folding his clothes. "What have you come to lecture me about this time?"

"Nothing," Mary said, attempting nonchalance. "I just… Well, frankly I just wanted to make sure we're still on speaking terms. Before the holidays, I meant."

"Of course we are. Haven't you heard?" He turned to face her, and Mary thought that his eyes were the saddest she'd ever seen. "We're in a relationship, you and I. We're in love."

"Well, that was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about," Mary said, sounding braver than she felt.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

Swallowing audibly, Mary soldiered on. "Yes, I – well, we said at the beginning of the year that should either of us meet someone meet someone that we want to have an actual relationship with, then we should break this off right away."

"I see," he said smugly. "And I suppose you fancy cosying up to Matthew, then? It makes sense; he's much more in your league, a posh toff like him - "

"Just stop it!" Mary shouted, making Thomas jump. "First of all, you don't get to be bitter. We're not together, we're not in love, we're just doing each other a favour. And secondly, I wasn't talking about me. I was talking about you."

Thomas froze, realisation dawning on his face. "Really?" He said, his voice trembling but still dripping with sarcasm. "So you think I've got a gentleman friend on the side, then?"

"You've got Jimmy," Mary said boldly.

"I have not _got Jimmy_!" Thomas was rapidly growing red in the face, his hands beginning to shake. "He's straight, if you haven't noticed! And he thinks I am, too!"

There was a long silence, neither of them saying a word but each calculating their next move.

"What is it?" Thomas asked eventually.

Mary only shrugged. "Well, what you say may be all good and true, but you don't deny it."

"Get out," Thomas snapped, standing completely rigid. "I said, GET OUT!"

"Very well," Mary said after a few moments of terse silence. "I… I hope you have a good Christmas, Thomas."

She turned on her heel, and left.

* * *

"Good evening, Mrs Hughes," Mr Carson said as he opened the door to the porter's lodge.

"Good evening," Mrs Hughes said, turning round incredulously. "You're late!"

Gasping, Mr Carson looked offended at the accusation. "I am not late!"

Mrs Hughes laughed. "Well, you're certainly not early! I got worried when you weren't here at your usual time."

"Nothing to worry about Mrs Hughes," he said in his usual growl. "I, er… stopped on the way to buy you a gift. For Christmas, of course."

A twinkle appeared in Mrs Hughes' eye. "Well, hasn't that worked out well! I bought you a gift, too."

She pulled a wine bag out from under the desk, handing it over to Mr Carson who peered inside.

"That – that is my favourite, Mrs Hughes. How did you know?"

"I know you well enough," Mrs Hughes smiled, taking the small parcel from Mr Carson and unwrapping it.

Mr Carson cleared his throat. "I saw it in a shop window, and I thought of you."

Speechless, Mrs Hughes carefully lifted the necklace from its box. "It's… it's lovely."

"You don't like it," Mr Carson said awkwardly. "I shouldn't have - "

"No," she interrupted. "I love it. Thank you."

"And this is the porter's lodge – oh, hello Mrs Hughes, Mr Carson."

They both looked up to see Thomas Barrow there with a shorter young man with blond hair.

"Hello there, Mr Barrow," Mrs Hughes said, Mr Carson echoing the sentiment.

"Oh, this is my friend, Jimmy," Thomas said at their enquiring looks, giving a rare genuine (if unsure) smile.

The young man – Jimmy – waved sheepishly. "Er – hello."

As they left, Mrs Hughes turned to Mr Carson once more. "Well. You can't say you didn't pick up that at least _something_ was going on there."

* * *

Mary wrapped her coat tighter around her as she rang the doorbell for Matthew's flat, the winter chill bitingly cold.

"Hello there, Mary," Matthew said as he opened the door. "Come on in, it's much warmer inside, and Jimmy's out, so it's just the two of us."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "Just the two of us? How improper." She followed him in as he chuckled, shutting the door behind her.

"So," Mary said as they collapsed onto the sofa, her coat and scarf hung up, "I wanted to see you before the holiday to give you your gift and… well, yes."

She presented a neatly-wrapped gift, a ribbon rosette stuck onto the top. "Here you go! Merry Christmas."

Matthew took the parcel from her, sliding his finger under one flap and pulling out the contents.

It was a slightly misshapen, extremely long scarf. The wool was a deep red, and clearly very high quality, but the scarf itself was at least seven feet long and not entirely straight, with mustard yellow tassels which clashed spectacularly with the rest of the scarf.

"Oh, er… thank you," Matthew said awkwardly, unsure of how to react. "It's, er…"

"I made it myself," Mary said nervously, looking down at her hands. "I know it's not, er, particularly nice, but I'd never knitted before and I wanted to make you something myself." When he didn't say anything for a few moments, she continued, "You don't like it; I was ridiculous to think you would. I'll – I'll get you something else, if you just give me your home address and I can post it - "

"I love it," Matthew interrupted, running his hands over the wonky knitwear. "It's wonderful. Thank you. I'm afraid that my gift will quite pale in comparison." He tore himself away from the scarf to pick up an envelope that was resting on the arm of the sofa. "Here you go. Merry Christmas."

Mary slowly opened the envelope, pulling out a gift card. She looked at it for a few moments, puzzled. "You… you bought me a goat?"

"Well," Matthew said, smiling nervously, "I, er, technically I bought a family in Kenya a goat on your behalf."

"You got me a goat?" Mary looked – and sounded – thoroughly unimpressed.

"I thought that, well, someone like you, you… well, you don't really want for anything, do you? If there's anything you want, you can just buy it, so I thought it would be nice to get something a bit different."

"You bought someone else a goat for Christmas?!"

Matthew's voice was extremely small when he spoke. "I just thought it was a nice idea, that's all."

For a few moments, Mary simply looked at him, evaluating, before leaning forwards and kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you. It _is_ a nice idea."

* * *

"So this is Downton College," Jimmy said, looking round at the tall buildings. "It's certainly impressive; I can see why most of you lot are all high and mighty, waking up to this every morning."

"Oi!" Thomas said indignantly, but smiling all the same. "I will not be clumped in with 'those lot', thank you very much. Now, come on, this way."

"What are you showing me?"

"You'll see. It's a surprise."

Thomas led Jimmy through the quad and towards the chapel, towering above the rest of the college.

"A chapel?" Jimmy asked incredulously. "When did I ever seem church-y to you?"

"It's not the chapel!" Thomas laughed. "Just wait and see, we're nearly there."

He led them into the chapel, ignoring Jimmy's scoffs at the ornate ceiling and going straight to the far end.

"Happy Christmas!" he said, turning round by the grand piano tucked in the corner.

Jimmy looked at him blankly, clearly not understanding. "What… what do you mean?"

"It's your Christmas present," Thomas shrugged. "I – I checked with the chaplain, he said that as long as there's no service or choir practice or anything, you can come in and play it. And there won't be much on over the holidays, what with everyone being away, and I know you're staying in Oxford by yourself and all, and I thought - " He looked down bashfully. "You just looked so sad when you said you hadn't played in years, so I thought you could get some practice in, you know?"

"Thomas," Jimmy whispered, lifting up the lid and gently running his fingers over the keys. "This… this is brilliant! Like, really, really, brilliant! I… I don't know what to say. You didn't have to do this, you know?"

"I know. I just… I'd do anything for you, Jimmy."

The weight of Thomas' words were lost; Jimmy was far too absorbed in the keyboard in front of him. "But I – I haven't got anything for you."

"Then play something," Thomas said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Let me hear your play. That would be more than fine."

At this, Jimmy blushed. "But I haven't played in years, I'll be terrible!"

"I don't believe that," Thomas scoffed. "Isn't it like riding a bike, or something? Even if you're a bit rusty, you'll still remember how to do it."

They were caught in a battle of wills for a moment before Jimmy relented. "Fine. But I'll play something easy, mind. I'll have to work my way back up to the hard stuff."

"Okay, then. What are you waiting for?!"

Jimmy gingerly sat down at the piano stool, looking nervously at the keys as if they might bite. "Okay, well… I'll play Bach's Prelude in C. It's a famous one, but it's not too hard to play, and it's a good warm-up, so it will be good to get me back into it."

Thomas smiled. "Well, go on then!"

After a few seconds, Jimmy began to play; tentatively at first, the notes not quite even, but after just a few bars it was clear he was relaxing into it and the music, beautifully measured, filled the whole chapel, echoing around.

While Jimmy lost himself in the feeling of playing once more, Thomas was absorbed in watching him. He couldn't help but think that Jimmy had never looked more handsome, more beautiful; that something about the way he held himself had changed, that he was fulfilling his passion. Thomas slowly leant onto the closed lid of the piano, gazing at Jimmy who was none the wiser, completely immersed in the music.

They sat for a few moments after the music finished, taking the time to revel in the last remnants of the echo bouncing around the chapel walls.

"That was fantastic," Thomas whispered, not wanting to break the spell.

Jimmy only shrugged. "Well, it was alright. It was a bit shaky at the start, and I lost it somewhere around the middle but I think I picked it up again at the end."

"It was wonderful," Thomas reassured him. "Did it… was it nice? Playing again?"

"It was the best feeling in the world," Jimmy breathed, his eyes bright. "Thank you, Thomas. This is the best present you could have got me."

"Merry Christmas, Jimmy," Thomas said, unable to wipe the smile from his face.

"Merry Christmas, Thomas."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 _In which Mary meets an old friend, and Tom arrives at the Grantham household and experiences his first Grantham family dinner._

The Christmas holidays turned out exactly as Mary had expected. The first couple of days had been glorious; delicious food, the luxury of her own double bed and being able to sleep in for as long as she wanted. She was sure that, had Edith stayed away for the holidays, she could have spent the whole time in blissful peace, completely at her own leisure. Sadly, though, that was not the case. After forty-eight hours of quiet and relaxation, Edith arrived home.

Mary had never told Edith the exact nature of her relationship with Thomas, although she was sure that she suspected and was just holding the information for a time that was most convenient for her. Edith never let good blackmail material go to waste, one of the few traits that Mary happily shared with her, and if there was ever anything going on then she wanted to know about it.

On the third morning of Mary being back, she was woken up by a knock at the door, followed by it creaking open as her mother put her head round.

"Morning, Mary!" she said softly. "How are you this morning?"

"I don't know yet," Mary grumbled, rubbing at her eyes. "I've only just woken up, thanks to you."

Cora smiled lovingly, and had Mary been more awake it would have occurred to her that only a mother could find her attitude endearing. "Well, it's time to get up. Edith's home, she caught the early train."

"Oh, Mama!" Mary whined, going to throw a pillow at the door, but her mother had already left. She blearily clambered out of bed, pulling on her dressing gown and slamming her bedroom door shut behind with far more force than was necessary. She could hear Edith's voice from the top of the stairs, carrying throughout the somewhat large house.

"I would have been here earlier, but I had to stay for a few days, for extra rowing practice, you know?" Mary heard, already rolling her eyes at Edith's crowing. "It's all in preparation for the big race, it's only in a few months' time you see, and our captain wanted us to get as much practice in as possible."

"You'll need it, against us," Mary interrupted. "Edith, how wonderful to see you."

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

"Yes," Edith replied, her voice as stiff and unfeeling as Mary's, "Wonderful to see you too."

There was a long silence as Sybil, Cora and Robert looked between Edith and Mary, as if anticipating an unpleasant explosion to occur at any moment. When nothing happened, Cora clapped her hands together, making both Sybil and Robert jump.

"Well, I think it's time we all had breakfast, don't you? We have a lot to catch up on, it's been months since we've had all three of you in the house together."

Still not breaking eye contact, Mary and Edith sat down at the table, shortly followed by the others who were still eyeing them expectantly.

Sybil was the first one to attempt conversation. "I'm afraid I can't stay long; I promised Tom I'd call him at nine to make the arrangements for his visit."

"Of course, dear," said Cora.

"Is this your new beau?" Edith asked, not unkindly.

Sybil blushed, ducking her head. "Yes, Tom Branson. He's ever so wonderful; I can't wait for you to meet him."

"Did you know, Edith, that Tom is at Downton? He has the room next to Thomas. Tom and Thomas; funny how things work out, isn't it?" said Robert.

Mary sipped at her tea. "I can barely move for laughing," she intoned. What worse a way to wake up, she thought, than with the arrival of Edith, and the reminder of her own contrived personal life? "Tell me, Edith, did your Sir Anthony pay for that new dress? I do believe it's designer."

"Who is Sir Anthony?" Cora asked, excited.

"Edith's sugar daddy."

"He is not my sugar daddy!" Edith said, indignant. "He's a very nice gentleman who I've been spending time with."

Smug with the feeling of a job well done, Mary leant back in her chair, smiling to herself as she surveyed the dining table and the soon-to-be wreckage of a conversation as her parents frantically tried to get to the bottom of the story behind Sir Anthony.

"It's just Mary being horrible!" Edith insisted eventually. "As always!"

Mary shrugged. "At least he's better than Fake Patrick."

Four voices chorused back in unison, "We don't talk about Fake Patrick."

* * *

The little bell in the door of the teashop chimed as Mary pushed open the door, scanning her eyes over every table until they landed on a familiar blonde head, bent over a novel that was open next to her tea. Mary slipped in between the mismatched tables, clearing her throat when she reached her destination.

"Anna?"

The young woman sat at the table looked up, a huge grin growing on her face as she saw her friend.

"Mary! Oh, it's so lovely to see you, it's been ages!" Anna jumped up and the two girls hugged tightly, Mary kissing Anna on the cheek.

Mary sat down at the table with her, pulling a teacup towards her and pouring some tea. "Oh, you look wonderful! How are you?"

"I'm very well; brilliant, actually! How about you?" said Anna as she put her book away in her bag.

"As well as one can be, when Edith has just arrived back from Cambridge," Mary replied, sipping her tea. "Breakfast this morning was absolutely ghastly! You would have thought that having not seen her for two months, I might find her easier to cope with, but no; if anything, I've lost some of my tolerance. Anyway, enough about my horrid sister; how are you getting on?"

"Very well," Anna smiled, "I've just started my final placement, so by September I'll be a fully qualified midwife! I can't believe it's come around so fast, but… here we are!"

"It feels like only yesterday that we were in school, still doing our A levels," Mary mused. "But judging by that almost sickening grin on your face," Anna tried, and failed, to scowl, "you have some more exciting news?"

Anna blushed, ducking her head slightly to try and hide it but giggling all the same. "There is something…"

Mary's eyes lit up with the hint of gossip. "Well, go on! Spill the beans!"

"It's John," Anna said, tentatively as if she was nervous to say it out loud. "I think… I think he's about to pop the question – for Christmas, or something."

Mary gasped. "You – really? You think - "

Anna nodded, still smiling an uncontainable smile. "I really do! Dad let slip that John had visited him, and he was awfully shy about it, stammering all over the place and making something up about why John had been there! He's been dropping hints for a while, now, and he often makes little remarks when we see a nice house or something about how wonderful it would be to live there, and – you see, he left his Christmas present to me under the tree and it is the right size for a ring box!"

"Oh, Anna!" Mary said, sighing happily and taking Anna's hands in hers. "I'm so happy for you! You'll let me know right away, won't you? If – if it is? And, oh, have you decided what you're going to say?"

Raising her eyebrows and holding in a grin, Anna said, "You think I could ever turn down the hand of John Bates? You don't know me at all, Mary Grantham!"

"You're right, of course. Anyone who's seen you two together for a second would know that! As long as you remember our promise."

"Like I would forget!"

"Well, ask me properly!"

Anna sighed, smiling to herself all the same. "Fine! In the event of my imminent engagement, will you, Mary Grantham, be my maid of honour?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Mary lifted up her tea in toast. "To you, the possible future Mrs Bates."

"So, what about you?" Anna asked after they'd put their teacups back down. "Will I be donning a maid of honour dress any time soon?"

"Not likely," Mary snorted. "Sorry to disappoint, but there's nothing on my horizon."

Anna looked at her suspiciously for a few seconds before speaking. "I know you, Mary Grantham, and I know when you're lying. Now, tell me all about him."

"There's not much to tell," Mary said frankly over her tea. "There is a young man, who's… quite nice. Very nice really. He's called Matthew, he's a postgraduate law student."

"Ooh, not bad then! I won't make you gush about him, unless you want to?"

"No gushing just yet, but I'll keep you informed."

"You'd better," laughed Anna. "What does Thomas make of him?"

"Thomas has got his eye on Matthew's roommate, but don't say anything to him about it or he'll bite your head off." Mary's face fell as she remembered her and Thomas' argument. "We're not really on speaking terms at the moment though, I'm afraid."

Anna chuckled. "Well, it doesn't take much with Thomas really, does it?"

"I don't know, I think it's worse this time," said Mary, gravely. "I think…" she lowered her voice, as if afraid she'd be overheard by the few other customers in the teashop. "I think he wants to come out – fully come out this time, not just to us, but he's scared – understandably - and he doesn't really know what to do. But you know Thomas; never asking for help, lashing out at anyone who tries."

"He'll come round, you'll see."

"I'm sure you're right; you often are. Now, I know it's probably bad luck to talk of these things _before_ the proposal, but what colour scheme were you thinking?"

* * *

For the first two weeks of the holidays, tensions ran high in the Grantham household. With Thomas not talking to her, Anna spending most of her time with John Bates and Sybil spending every moment talking to Tom, she had no choice for company but Edith. Every breakfast began with terse silence, but by lunchtime they would be slamming doors and hurling insults, Sybil running out of her room to try but fail to calm them down. Mary wasn't sure if she was just more on edge than usual, or if Edith really had got worse in the months they'd been apart.

Either way, she, almost as much as Sybil, was counting down the days towards Tom's visit, for a distraction if nothing else. It was sure to be entertaining. On paper, Tom looked like the kind of person that her parents wanted for all of their daughters; studying at Oxford, doing a respectful degree, and with high ambitions. In practice, though, she knew it would be quite different.

Sybil drove to the airport to meet him, and Mary couldn't help but laugh at her mother, frantically running round to try and get everything ready.

"Mary, dear, do you think Tom will mind if he only has the second best bedding? I can't find the best anywhere."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Really, Mother, the second best cost more than Tom spends on anything in a month, it will be _fine_. He's used to a slightly… less extravagant way of life, I'm sure whatever he has will be fine."

"Oh, good." Cora seemed placated, but the message hadn't quite hit home. "And do you think he'll mind if we only have the three courses this evening? I would usually make sure we have more when we have a guest, but with Christmas just around the corner I thought we should save ourselves up for the larger meal - "

"Yes, Mama! It will be fine!"

Still looking unsure, Cora nodded. "As long as you're sure. And we don't live too extravagantly, do we? I mean, you three girls all share the third car - " At this, she stumbled; she'd been hinting to Mary for months that she might get her own car for her twenty-first " – and we only have the one water feature in the garden now, since we put that patio in."

"I didn't say we lived _too_ extravagantly," Mary said, "but you must know that most people live much more simply than us, surely? And it's not a bad thing – just remember that Tom's not from our kind of people. He's used to a very different way of life, and while it's certainly one of the things Sybil likes about him, it does mean that he's probably never had caviar in his life."

Cora was abruptly taken aback by this revelation. "Never had caviar? My dear, we must change that at once. Is there time to change this evening's menu?"

"We'll have it tomorrow." Mary put her hand on her mother's arm just as she heard the front door be unlocked. "That will be them! I'll go and say hello."

She strode through to the hall, leaving her mother to quickly compose herself before following.

"Tom, how marvellous to have you here! I hope you're well, did you have a pleasant journey?"

"As pleasant as budget airlines can be," he shrugged, smiling all the same. Mary suspected that it probably had fair bit to do with the way his hand was still in Sybil's. "But I'm here now! I have to say, I knew you had money, but I didn't expect…" He looked around the huge house incredulously, taking in the high ceilings and thick carpets.

"Our family paid for most of Downton College to be built, what did you expect?" said Mary.

Sybil tugged Tom slightly closer to her. "Really, Mary, you don't have to gloat! Come on, Tom, I'll show you where you're sleeping."

Before she could drag him away, however, Cora appeared, pretending not to have been eavesdropping from the other side of the door.

"You must be Tom," she said, shaking his hand warmly. "Welcome, it's so lovely to meet you at last!"

"And you too, Mrs Grantham," said Tom, smiling nervously. "Thank you so much for inviting me."

"Nonsense! It's our pleasure. And please, call me Cora. Now, I believe Sybil was about to take you upstairs?"

"Yes, I was." Sybil seemed quite glad for the opportunity to get away, and Mary couldn't blame her; since the beginning of their relationship she and Tom had not had much of a chance to be alone together. Even so, she couldn't resist calling out to them.

"Door open, Sybil!" She resolutely ignored her mother's chiding look.

"I'm eighteen!" Sybil insisted as they went upstairs, all of them ignoring Tom's blush. "I'll have my door however I want it, thank you very much!"

Cora and Mary couldn't help but chuckle as they listened to Sybil and Tom going upstairs, their voices carrying despite their murmuring.

"You didn't tell me your mother was American!"

"Well, it never came up, and it's not really important."

"But it might have been! She does support free health care, though, doesn't she?"

* * *

If someone had asked Mary to draw a caricature of what a dinner with her whole family and Tom Branson would be like, she would have just taken a picture of the event itself. She wondered if Sybil had never told Tom about their formal dinners or if, more likely, he'd elected to ignore any and all advice on how to behave himself. There were evenings, of course, when they were busy or in a hurry, and they were all running round and grabbing a bite to eat whenever they could. Some evenings, however, and especially on evenings that included guests, they had a full, sit-down meal. Mr Grantham was such a stickler for tradition that they always wore something nice for such occasions; Robert himself wouldn't be seen without a dinner jacket and he would bust a gut if any of his daughters dared wear jeans to dinner.

Tom had clearly made some sort of effort, but it was clear that Sybil thought it was lost on Mr Grantham – and she was probably right. A result of Tom's political interests and involvements meant that he owned one nice suit and one red tie, but neither of those had come out tonight; instead, he was wearing a worn button-up shirt and jeans.

"Did your luggage not make it back with you?" Robert asked after a few minutes of eyeing him with distrust. "Those cheaper airlines can be terrible."

"No, everything was alright," Tom said, stubbornly ignoring the jibe. "But thank you for your concern."

Sensing a tension, Sybil intervened. "You know, Papa, Tom's had all sorts of exciting job offers for after he graduates."

"Really," Robert said, his expression making it perfectly clear that he didn't usually associate the words 'exciting' and 'job'.

"Sybil's right," said Tom, glad for something to talk about. "I've been offered a job in the Labour office, working with some of their charity links. It will be important work, helping to bridge the gap between the working and upper classes."

"The Labour office," Robert scoffed, "Don't you have something better to do with a degree from Oxford?"

"Really, Papa, there's no need for that," Sybil said, just as Cora exclaimed, "Robert!"

"No, it's fine," Tom said, his voice shaking slightly. "We're all entitled to our opinions, even if we don't agree - "

Robert interrupted him. "I just can't understand it! I know that you don't necessarily come from a privileged background, but you're studying at _Oxford_ for God's sake, surely you mean to do something more with your life."

"I happen to think that I'm doing something very worthwhile with my life," Tom said defiantly.

Sybil piped up, "I agree!"

"Well, I do not!" said Robert, blustering. "I mean, take Thomas, for example. He - "

"Actually," Mary spoke, clearly and loudly, unable to take the fighting anymore and unwilling to be brought into it, "Thomas and I have broken up."

A deathly silence fell over the table; even Edith looked shocked. It was only once the words were out there that Mary felt a weight being lifted from her chest. She hadn't realised how much the pressure of her and Thomas' strained friendships and constant arguments was getting her down, shortening her temper and her patience until it was gone and she suddenly felt able to take on the world – including the argument between her father and Tom Branson.

Her voice was dangerously quiet when she spoke. "Papa, stop this at once, and believe me when I say that Tom is a fine young man and more than a match for Sybil. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going upstairs."

Cora mumbled some noise of agreement and comfort, indicating permission that Mary did not wait for before standing up and leaving the smothering atmosphere of the dining room.

* * *

"Mary, do what do I owe the pleasure?" Thomas' voice drawled from the other end of the phone call.

"I've done it," she said, surprising herself by how steady her voice was. "I told my parents that we were broken up. I'm sorry, I know I should have spoken to you first, but I could sense that Papa was about to go into another lecture about how much he wants you as a son-in-law and I just – I couldn't take it. I'm sorry."

"No, there's – no need to be sorry." Mary was surprised by how calm his voice was. "It – it needed to be done, really, didn't it? And let's face it, I was a pretty lousy boyfriend."

"That you were," Mary chuckled, any fear at a lost friendship with Thomas slipping away with every second. "But not anymore. Let's – let's put this ridiculous argument behind us, and get on with our lives, shall we?"

"Yes, I think that would be best. I'll miss hearing about how perfect I am from your father, but I think I'll cope with the trauma of once again being single."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"So I've been told." Mary could hear the smile in his voice.

"So… friends?"

"What are we, six? Of course we're bloody friends, Mary!"

"Good. And… Thomas?"

"Yes?"

"You'll make a very good boyfriend to someone, one day. I know you will."

There was a long silence, before he eventually said, "Thank you Mary. I… thank you."

 **Thank you for all the lovely reviews so far! Please keep them coming, they are the best motivation :)**

 **I'm afraid it will be a few weeks now before the next update, as I'm going away for Monday and won't have my laptop with me and will then have unreliable WiFi for a few days, but hopefully there will be at least one chapter towards the end of August.**

 **Find me on tumblr: singing-fangirl**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm back!**

 **Quite a short chapter today, I'm afraid, and quite bitty, but this is setting up most of the major plot points for the next section of the story.**

 **Chapter 9**

 _In which Mary, Thomas and Matthew return to Oxford, and Thomas makes a new friend._

It was the usual wet, damp British January when Mary and Thomas pulled up outside Downton College, the car filled with suitcases (mostly Mary's), ready for the new term.

Mary sighed happily as she stepped out of the car, looking up at the grand gates that led into the college.

"It's like coming home, isn't it?" she said breezily. "I refuse to believe that we have to leave for good in a few months' time."

"Well, believe it," said Thomas, his voice strained as he started pulling the luggage out of the car. "You know, I didn't think it was even possible for you to pack more than you did last term, but once again you've proven me wrong."

"Oh, stop whining," Mary said, although there was no real bite to it as she took the smallest case. "Come on, I'll get the rest later."

They greeted an amused Mrs Hughes as they went past the porter's lodge, stepping once again into the quad of the college. Thomas nearly collided into Mary when she stopped suddenly, the pile of boxes he was carrying crashing to the floor.

"How come I'm still carrying your boxes?" he grumbled as he picked them up. "I'm sure most blokes don't act as removal men for their ex-girlfriends - "

Mary interrupted him. "Shh, listen!"

Pausing in what he was doing, Thomas tipped his head to one side slightly as the music that he hadn't heard when he'd come in washed over him. A small smile, not unnoticed by Mary, grew on his face, his eyes lighting up as he realised what he was hearing.

"I wonder who that is. I didn't realise anyone played the piano in the chapel anymore."

Thomas stood up quickly, abandoning Mary's boxes. "Carry your own luggage," he said absent-mindedly, before slipping inside the chapel, a bemused Mary looking on.

It only took him a matter of seconds to spot Jimmy's blond head in the corner, bent over the keyboard where he was engrossed in what he was playing. Not wanting to disturb him and more than content to enjoy the music, Thomas perched on the edge of a nearby pew, watching and listening intently. It was only when Jimmy finished the piece, and Thomas began to clap, that Jimmy realised that there was someone else there.

"I didn't realise you were there; you made me jump!" He put a hand on his heart jokingly, smiling up at Thomas.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. That was just so incredible, I had to listen. I hope that's okay."

"Of course it is! And just so you know, I'm relying on you to be my biggest critic."

At this, Thomas blushed. "I think I'd be pretty terrible at that. It all sounds incredible to me."

"Well, in that case you'll have to be my morale booster."

"What, like your muse?" Thomas said before he could stop himself, looking away bashfully as soon as the words were out.

Jimmy cocked his head on one side and looked at Thomas quizzically before answering. "Yeah; my muse. After all, without you, I wouldn't have been able to practice. I've been wanting to play that piece for years and now I can, so thank you."

Thomas shrugged. "Oh, it was nothing really. I'm glad it's helping though." He paused for a moment, thinking about his next words carefully. "Have you… I don't suppose you've thought about what you want to do? You know, long-term? Because you're really really good, and I bet you could get into a music college or something if you wanted to."

"Me? Music college? You must be mad!" Jimmy laughed. "There's no way I'm good enough for that, not a chance! No, music will always remain a hobby and nothing more." He looked down sadly for a moment before clearing his throat. "Anyway, enough about me; how was your Christmas?"

"Oh, you know…" said Thomas nonchalantly. "It had its ups and downs. It was nice to spend some time with my mum, and with my cousin Phyllis, but, well, er, Mary and I, we, er - " _Look sad_ , he told himself, "We broke up. Just before Christmas."

"Shit," Jimmy breathed, reassuring Thomas that his acting had been convincing. "I'm so sorry, that – that really, really sucks."

"It's not too bad. It's been a long-time coming, I think, and we're already back to being friends. I think it had just…" he paused, searching for the right words. "I think we'd just grown into different people who… who didn't want to be together in that way anymore." _Not technically a lie_ , he thought to himself rather smugly.

Jimmy said, "That's okay, then," but he didn't look particularly convinced. He put a hand on Thomas' far shoulder, pulling him into an awkward, side-on hug. "It, er, it still can't have been easy, though.

If he noticed the way Thomas tensed up in the hug, he didn't say anything, keeping his arm around him.

* * *

"I'll bet you anything my Christmas was worse than yours."

Mary sped along in her new car, Matthew in the passenger seat looking at her with disbelief.

"You do realise that we're in your _new car_ right now, yes? So it surely can't have been _that_ terrible."

"Ah, but there's a difference!" Mary crowed. "This was a twenty-first birthday present; it just so happens that I have a January birthday. No, the birthday wasn't so bad; it was the Christmas that was more terrible."

Matthew only rolled his eyes, gazing out the passenger window as the English countryside sped past them.

"Well?" Mary said after a few seconds. "Aren't you going to ask me why my Christmas was so terrible?"

"Fine," Matthew sighed. "Why was your Christmas so terrible."

"A whole number of reasons."

"I somehow thought that might be the answer."

"Hey! Enough of that, thank you. Anyway; to start with, I had to spend time with my sister, Edith, which puts a dampener on anything. She even once managed to make Disneyland awful, which is a skill no person should have. Then Tom Branson came, and caused a bit of a ruckus by talking politics and socialism at the dinner table before almost persuading Sybil to head back to Ireland with him in the middle of the night, he'd upset my father that much. I managed to stop them, but it wasn't pretty for a while, him and Papa fighting at every opportunity."

"I fail to see how that makes your Christmas so awful," Matthew said, putting a hand on the door to steady himself as Mary swung around a corner.

"I haven't finished," Mary chided. "Tom visiting was only the tip of the iceberg. Edith had somehow persuaded Mama to let her invite Sir Anthony over for Christmas Day – Sir Anthony is her sugar daddy," she added at Matthew's confused look.

Matthew scoffed, "Surely that's a bit harsh?"

"Really? He's older than our father, and bought Edith a _flat_ for Christmas."

At this, Matthew snorted. "Okay, fine; he's her sugar daddy. Surely it can't have been _that_ bad, though?"

"Well, we all got food poisoning, and he threw up all over himself. In Edith's bed, which was _not_ where he was supposed to me."

Matthew laughed loudly, still clinging on for dear life and Mary violently turned another corner, throwing him into the car door. "So, Sybil's boyfriend fell out with your father, Edith's boyfriend threw up all over her - "

"While she was naked."

"While she was – _what_?! Anyway – which leads me to believe that you're saving the best until - "

"I broke it off with Thomas."

" – last. Really? You – you and Thomas, er, you…"

"Yes," Mary said, all composure, "Thomas and I are no longer in a relationship. We're still friends, so there's no need to worry about all of that, but we _did_ split up."

"Wow." Matthew ran his hand through his hair, resolutely not looking at Mary. "Are… are you okay?"

"Absolutely wonderful, which says everything you need to know about _that_ relationship."

"You know, I underestimated you when you said you'd had a terrible Christmas. You broke up with your boyfriend, one sister nearly eloped with hers and the other was vomited on. Can't have been the easiest time for your parents."

Mary shrugged. "Well, Papa spent most of the time hiding in the library, and Mama can take anything any of throw at her." She paused for a moment, thinking. "Well. Almost anything."

Deciding not to question it, sure that he wouldn't like the answer, Matthew soldiered on. "So, all in all, a terrible Christmas?"

"In short, yes," said Mary. "Anyway, enough about me. How was your holiday? Was it as terrible as mine?"

"Oh, well, I don't really want to compete," Matthew said, suddenly nervous. I mean, it sounds like you had a pretty awful time of it, and I – well, I - "

Mary looked over at him, worried. "Is everything alright?" she said, nearly running over an unsuspecting cyclist.

"Well – not really," Matthew said awkwardly, clearly hating the dampener he was putting on the conversation. "It's – it's my mother, you see, she was – well, she was taken quite ill just before Christmas. It was just the two of us for Christmas, as usual, so we had it all in her hospital room. She wasn't really well enough for the whole Christmas Day, so we just exchanged some presents, had some hospital turkey, watched the Queen's speech. It wasn't so bad, not really; it was nice to spend some time with her, but… well, I'm sure you can imagine."

"I'm so sorry," Mary said, watching the road more out of respect to Matthew than concern for safety. "I… I didn't realise. That must have been bloody awful. Is she… is she okay now? Will she be okay?"

Matthew shrugged. "The doctors think she's on the mend, but they're not sure. It's cancer, you see, so it's going to take a while."

"I… I really hope she gets better, Matthew. Truly."

"Thank you," he said weakly, frantically rubbing the tears from his eyes. "That means a lot. I - Thank you, Mary."

* * *

Monday morning, 9 a.m. came too soon for Thomas. He would have much preferred to have a few more days' holiday, lounge around in the warm common rooms after brunch, but no; he was up before the sun was, trekking across Oxford, wrapped up tightly in a thick coat and scarf. Ever since the beginning of first year, he'd preferred to be the first one in his lectures; it never hurt to look eager, and it meant that he could choose the best seat without negotiations. He'd never really spoken to any of his classmates past small talk and casual greetings, so it suited him to sit in the lecture theatre for ten minutes by himself while everyone else milled around outside.

That particular morning was no different. No matter how much he grumbled about having to get up early, he still arrived before anyone else, sitting in his usual spot in the middle of the fifth row of the lecture theatre, pulling out his notebook and pen. Drumming his fingers impatiently against the top of his notebook he gazed around the empty lecture theatre, cursing himself for forgetting his lighter that morning, cancelling his usual cigarette on the way to class.

"Hello."

He jumped as someone spoke behind him, whipping his head around. He recognised the boy who was speaking, if only vaguely; the thick glasses were quite distinctive.

"Er, hello?" Thomas replied, phrasing it more as a question than a greeting.

"I was hoping I'd catch you," the boy said nervously, before blushing slightly. "Do you – do you mind if I join you?"

"Of – of course, that's fine," Thomas said, not able to think of an excuse for the boy not to.

The boy carefully made his way through the rows of seats of the lecture theatre, and Thomas couldn't help but notice the way he brushed his fingers over every bench and table he passed, as if to reassure himself that it was there.

"I'm Edward," the boy said genially when he reached Thomas, sticking his hand out.

Thomas shook his hand. "Thomas."

"I know." Edward's blush deepened at the admission. "I mean, um, yeah. You're Thomas. I noticed, you know, from when the lecturers call on you in class. You're very clever, you know. You're much faster at answering their questions than I am."

"I wouldn't say that," Thomas said, now slightly embarrassed. "And now I feel bad that I didn't know your name."

"Oh, I wouldn't feel too bad," Edward hastily said, putting a hand out as if to rest it on Thomas' arm but clearly thinking better of it. "I don't have many classes with you, not really. I can't do the workshops, not with my eyesight the way it is, so I take extra theory classes instead. But it means that I never really got to know people in the same way."

"That can't have been easy." Something about the way Edward spoke, the casual ease with which he held himself, made Thomas want to know more. It was clear that Edward, like him, felt like an outsider; had never really found his place among the others. For vastly different reasons, of course, but nonetheless, the end result was the same. "You're not the only one, though; to feel left out, I mean. I myself have never really fit in, either."

"Really? How come?"

Before Thomas could answer, the door to the lecture theatre opened and the rest of their class trickled in, followed by a bleary-eyed professor.

"We'll talk about it some other time," Edward whispered, and Thomas couldn't help but feel cheered by the thought that, perhaps, there would be a next time.


	10. Chapter 10

_In which Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes discuss the latest gossip, and Mary meets with Matthew._

"Good morning, Mr Carson," Mrs Hughes greeted as she came into the porter's lodge one morning, tugging off her scarf and coat and hanging them up behind her.

Mr Carson jerked slightly when she spoke, clearly pretending that he hadn't been nodding off at his desk. "Oh, good morning, Mrs Hughes," he said in his usual grumble. "I trust you slept well?"

"Very well, thank you, although not as well as you did, I dare say!" This earned her a patented Carson glare. "I'd better let you get home and rest – was it a particularly busy night?"

"The usual," said Mr Carson. "Thomas Barrow's friend – I forget his name – came to play in the chapel again. I must admit, it's most irregular, but I do enjoy having some more music about the place. Adds to the ambience."

"I think his name's Jimmy," Mrs Hughes supplied.

"Well, then, I shall call him James. He has seemed in a funny mood the last few days, as has Barrow; have you noticed anything?"

"Well, I'm sure you heard that he and Mary Grantham broke it off over the Christmas holidays?" said Mrs Hughes, with an air of conspiracy.

"Didn't everyone?"

"Well, I more than suspect that, somehow, Jimmy had something to do with it. Maybe not directly, and he may not know it, but he was almost certainly a contributing factor."

Mr Carson looked shocked at this revelation. "You mean… you think that perhaps he and Mary - "

"Not him and _Mary_ ," Mrs Hughes smiled knowingly. "Well, you'd better be off. Don't want you nodding off again!"

"Of course," said Mr Carson, standing up and adjusting his jacket. "Well, I will see you this evening, Mrs Hughes." And he left the office, still contemplating Mrs Hughes' words.

* * *

When Matthew went into the pub that evening, it didn't take him long to spot Mary, sitting at a small table in one corner and talking on her phone. She smiled when she spotted Matthew, waving her over as she finished her conversation.

"So, it's all set? All official? Oh, that's wonderful! I can't quite believe it; the future Mrs Bates! Well, of course; no, no, not at all – listen, darling, I have to go, but congratulations again and again and again! And I'll talk to you later about the cake, you absolutely _must_ go to Daisy, no one makes them like she does. Nonsense, I'll pay. No, we won't worry about all of that now; you go and be with your fiancé. Alright? Yes. Bye!"

She hung up, slipping the phone into her pocket. "My friend Anna," she said in way of explanation. "She got engaged over the Christmas holidays, which all of us saw coming, but anyway. How are you?"

Ignoring the question, Matthew said, "So, your friend got engaged and you became single. What an eventful holiday."

"Yes, thank you for the reminder," Mary said wryly, giving him a piercing look over her drink so he knew that she was joking. "But I'm happy for Anna, truly; she deserves every happiness, and John gives her that. I'm not going to let my own personal life get in the way of that."

"But I have to say, you don't seem particularly cut up about it, and Thomas doesn't either. I think that if I'd broken up with you, I'd be absolutely devastated."

"If you'd broken up with me?" Mary raised an eyebrow. "A bit premature, perhaps?"

Matthew blushed. "I only meant that if I'd been in a relationship with someone for two years, it might take me more than a few days to go back to being friends; that's all."

"Of course. That's all."

"Do you always twist everything that everyone says?" Matthew said, exasperated.

"Only when it suits me. I told you, Thomas and I are fine; nothing to concern yourself with. It was actually quite a relief, to tell you the truth. We were both glad to go back to being friends. Easier all round."

"Whatever you say," Matthew sighed, resigned. "I can't help but feel, though, that there's more to all this than your telling me. Not that you're obliged to tell me, of course; it's your life and you don't have to tell anyone, least of all me. It just all feels a little… odd."

There was a long silence between them as Mary contemplated what to say. She went to speak a couple of times before thinking better of it, eventually finding the words that she needed.

"The thing is, Matthew," she said slowly, carefully placing each word, "The thing is that it's not _just_ me. It's Thomas as well, and I – if there _was_ anything odd about it, that would be between us. I hope you understand."

"Oh, no, of course," said Matthew hastily. "No, I understand, I – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's already forgotten," Mary smiled. "Now it's _my_ turn to pry. We've only spoken about me, which is usually how I like it, but everyone likes a change now and again. How are you?"

"Can't we go back to talking about you?" Matthew winced. "In all honesty, things aren't – they aren't great at the moment. My mother is still very ill, she – she started her second dose of chemotherapy a few days ago, and she's all – all out of sorts. She keeps taking all these new experimental drugs," he laughed humourlessly. "That's her through and through; I think she feels that by being a test subject, at least she's doing something useful in her hospital bed."

"And you?" Mary asked. "How are _you_ doing."

Matthew shrugged. "Alright, I suppose." He looked down at his hands, hiding the tears that were starting to gather in his eyes. "Can – can we talk about you some more, now? You do it so well, and it's a marvellous distraction," he said, laughing weakly.

"Gladly." They shared a smile before Mary continued. "Did I tell you – Edith has joined the university newspaper in Cambridge, but from the way she talks you'd think she'd invented the concept! Every day I get drowned in messages where she's telling me about how well her article was received, or the merits of an advice column, or how wonderful the editor is. She sent me a copy of a rather pointed article about how Oriental Studies 'wasn't a real subject'. Where she gets it from, I don't know."

Matthew looked as if he might have had his suspicions, but didn't say anything.

"All I hear every time we talk – not by choice, you understand, but my parents insist on group calls – it's all 'Laura this', and 'Laura that'. I wouldn't be surprised if we had a happy announcement through the post any day soon. Happy for Edith, anyway; I wouldn't wish her on anyone, least of all this poor Laura."

"Surely Edith can't be quite as bad as you say she is? I find it hard to believe that she's quite that awful."

"Judge for yourself." Mary smiled at Matthew's confused expression. "The race, week after next. She's competing in the women's team for Cambridge."

"And you're competing in the women's team for Oxford," Matthew said, realisation dawning. "Well, that will be a race to remember!"

"Certainly." She had a certain look on her face which hinted to Matthew that perhaps he should make a note to never cross her.

Mary shook her hair out slightly, as if to rid herself of any thought of Edith. "I almost dread to ask the question, but how are your politics coming along?"

"Oh, that," Matthew laughed, nervously. "I… I may have a _slight_ confession on that note."

"Oh, really?" Mary looked intrigued at the prospect. "Do tell!"

Matthew cleared his throat. "I – well, I think I might have mislead you as to quite _how_ involved I am in university politics. I have a membership, and I go along occasionally so I know most people there, but… well, it's never felt like much more than a duty."

Mary's face lit up with the new information; whether it was the facts themselves or simply the fact that she was now in possession of them, Matthew couldn't tell. "Really? So you're not a socialist after all, then?"

"No, I wouldn't quite go that far." If anything, he seemed relieved that she'd caught on so quickly. "I would certainly describe myself as more left-wing, but I'm not particularly _active_ in political circles. At least not to the extent of people like Tom Branson, anyway."

"Amen to that," Mary said, lifting her glass as if in toast, and they laughed as they drank to it. "So, the first time we met…"

Matthew shrugged. "I'll be honest; you're really quite amusing when you're all riled up. And - " he went a brilliant red, and his voice lowered to an embarrassed mumble, "You – you looked nice, and I wanted a reason to talk to you."

For once, Mary was speechless. She gaped a few times, searching frantically for words but none came to mind. Eventually she managed to force out, "Oh."

They sat in loaded silence for a few, very long minutes, neither knowing what to say.

"So - " Mary stammered out. "So, when you invited me to talk about politics with you - "

"Yes," Matthew whispered, somehow managing to blush even harder.

"But - "

"I know, you were with Thomas and I shouldn't but I – I couldn't bear the thought of just… letting you go."

"So now, you want to - "

Matthew said very frankly, "I – I don't know." He cleared his throat, looking as if he was hating every word that came out of his mouth. "I mean – well, I _want_ to, of course – although only if you want to – but you and Thomas have just broken up, and… well, I really have enough going on at the moment, I think. Not that – I don't want you to feel - "

"I understand."

"I – good, well – um – I'm sorry. For… for all of this."

Before she could decide against it, Mary reached across the small table and took his hand. "Don't be."

She cleared her throat, taking her hand back under the pretence of smoothing out her skirt. "We will just have to be the most marvellous of friends; that's all there is to it."

Matthew smiled despite himself. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right. It's – it's all a funny business, isn't it?"

"You can say that again!" Making a show of glancing at her watch, Mary stood up sharply. "Well, I – I really must be off. But it – it was lovely – really, um, very lovely – to talk to you. We, we must do this again sometime. And I'll – I'll see you at the race, if I don't see you before then." She looked doubtful for a moment. "You will _be_ at the race, won't you?"

Matthew tried his best to smile. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

And he was so busy gazing into his own pint of beer, wondering if there really was something wonderful at the bottom of the glass, that he didn't notice Mary hastily wiping her eyes as she left.

 **I hope you enjoyed!**

 **Updates will be a bit less regular for a while; I've just started at a new college and I'm currently editing my novel ready for publishing, so I'm quite busy! But I will post whenever I can.**

 **Which leads me to a shameless plug for my novel, 'The Story of Lizzy and Darcy' (which some of you may have already read.) This will be published before the end of the year (date tbc) and you can keep track of updates either by following gracewatsonauthor . tumblr . com or by emailing gracewatsonauthor (a) hotmail . com to chat or sign up to the mailing list :)**

 **As always, remember to leave a review! You're all so lovely, so every review makes my day!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 _In which Thomas and Jimmy cuddle, pseudo-platonically._

"Beer?"

Thomas glanced at the two beers that Jimmy had pulled out of the fridge, nodding. "Yeah, thanks."

Jimmy tugged the caps off with his teeth, handing one to Thomas before they collapsed on the sofa.

"God, I'm exhausted," Jimmy sighed, taking a long swig from his beer as he put his feet up on Thomas' lap. "Double shifts really take it out of you. How was your day?"

Shrugging, Thomas took a sip of his own beer. "The usual. Workshop, tutorials, lectures – I went for lunch with my friend Edward, but apart from that? Nothing out of the ordinary. I don't envy you, spending hours catering to people's demands for overpriced coffee."

"Tell me about it," Jimmy scoffed. "Sometimes, I think… screw this! I'll just throw in the towel, tell them all where to stick their stupid frappuccinos, but then I remember that I would lose the money that I need to live. So, there goes that plan!"

"What would you do?" asked Thomas. "If – if you were to quit tomorrow, what would you do?"

"Oh, I don't know. Work at Costa?" He snorted. "I'd have to get another job, and chances are it would be somewhere even worse. No, I'm best off where I am – at least it's reliable."

"Yeah; it's got that going for it, I suppose."

After a beat, Jimmy glanced at Thomas, concerned. "You know, it's pretty warm in here. You can take your jumper off, if you want, or roll the sleeves up or something."

Thomas half-shrugged, shifting to a more comfortable position. "I'm fine; I like the warm."

"'kay. As long as you're sure."

The conversation came to a natural pause, each sipping their own drink and enjoying the other's presence. It was odd, Thomas thought, how comfortable they were together; he would happily say that there was no replacement for Jimmy's company, and he didn't think it particularly narcissistic to suppose that Jimmy would think the same about him. There was an ease when they were together, one that he'd only just begun to recreate with Mary and that he'd never shared with anyone else.

Maybe… maybe Jimmy would be okay, knowing the truth about him and Mary. It was tiring, constantly hiding from him, constantly worrying about how he might react. It wasn't even the usual case of coming out, of confessing some sort of necessary lie of omission; this was outright deceit, lying to the world for over two years about his personal life, and there was no way of knowing how Jimmy would take that. But still, he wanted to be able to talk to Jimmy about it. He was spending more and more time with Edward, and he had to admit that he was starting to find the other boy quite attractive; both in looks and in personality. Edward made him feel like it was okay to be finding this hard; like it was perfectly natural to be struggling, and for the first time he had someone who really understood. They rarely spoke about such things, but it was something that each of them had accepted and was an unspoken agreement between them. It was as if Edward was the boy that a younger, school-age Thomas had always hoped for; someone who, through gentle nudges and caring support could coax him out of his shell.

Was it so bad for him to want to talk to Jimmy about that?

"I - " he started before he could lose his nerve, but as he spoke Jimmy said "So at - "

They both stopped talking, looking expectantly at each other.

"You go first," Jimmy said after a second, indicating towards Thomas with his beer bottle.

"Oh, no, it's fine," Thomas forced out, feeling his nerve slipping away from him with every second. How could he have thought that telling Jimmy was a good idea? "You go first."

"Well," Jimmy shrugged. "It wasn't much. There was just this couple in the shop today, right, and – well, it was weird. I mean, they were both women – which I don't have an issue with," he hastily added, not sounding entirely convinced. "Anyway, so they come in, and place their orders and everything, and I just…" He tailed off, clearly unconvinced by his own story. "Well, it was weird, you know? That they were just so… _normal_. You think lesbian, and you think either two _really hot_ birds getting it on," he gave Thomas a look that clearly meant that he was expected to agree, "Or you expect, like, two plaid-wearing builders or something. But you couldn't guess, from looking at them separately, that they were gay."

"Maybe people are just more complicated than you think," Thomas snapped, quickly losing his patience with Jimmy's 'story'.

"Yeah, I suppose," Jimmy said, completely missing any criticism in Thomas' tone. "It makes you think, though, doesn't it? I mean, _anyone_ could be gay, and we could just… not know."

"Yeah," Thomas said coldly, concentrating on the beer in his hand and not trusting himself to say anything else.

Jimmy cleared his throat awkwardly. "Thomas, am I… you know, am I a bit behind on all of this? I feel like everyone's so okay with everything, but I'm only just getting it."

"Yeah." Thomas laughed more with relief than anything else; finally, _some_ sense. "Yeah, that's about the most accurate thing you've said so far."

"Time for another beer after all that," Jimmy said incredulously, getting up from the old sofa. "You want another one?"

"Sure."

"Anyway, what was it you wanted to say?"

Thomas shook his head, focussing on his fingers tapping a rhythm on his knee. "Oh, it was nothing."

He took the second bottle from Jimmy, trying his best to stay relaxed as Jimmy sat back down again, this time close enough that their arms and legs were touching.

"You know, I still can't figure you out," Jimmy said, the tipsiness already starting to show in his frank speech. "There's just something about you that I… that I can't work out. You're something else, Thomas. You really are." He shuffled slightly so he could rest his head on Thomas' shoulder.

"What do you – what do you mean by that?" Thomas asked quietly, trying to distract himself from the tickle of Jimmy's hair against his neck.

"Well, you believe in me," Jimmy said sleepily. "It's been a long time since someone did that."

Slowly and tentatively, as if afraid that it might break the spell, Thomas lifted his arm up and around Jimmy until it was resting on his far shoulder, draped over his back.

"Of course I believe in you," he whispered. "You… you have so much talent, Jimmy. You're something special, you really are. I just wish that you could see that."

For a few seconds he waited for a response before realising that Jimmy was fast asleep, his second beer bottle – nearly empty – slipping out of his hand. Gently, not wanting to jostle him, Thomas reached for it and set it on the floor before sitting up again and wrapping his arm slightly tighter around Jimmy. He resisted the urge to run his fingers through Jimmy's hair, settling instead for simply watching him; the way his nostrils flared slightly as he breathed, the way he turned himself further into Thomas' chest.

Thomas couldn't help but think that maybe he _should_ have told him. It almost felt like a betrayal, being this close to Jimmy but still living some sort of lie. An unbidden part of his brain reminded him that, perhaps, if Jimmy knew what he was, he wouldn't want this; he wouldn't want to spend time with him, or to share any physical contact with him. The more rational side of his mind told him to stop being so ridiculous. Of course Jimmy wouldn't do that to him! They were friends, after all; even if Jimmy wasn't necessarily comfortable with it, wouldn't he at least make an effort?

It broke Thomas' heart sometimes, how little Jimmy believed in himself. As much as he joked about being content to work at Starbucks for the rest of his life, Thomas often thought that there was some sincerity behind it; that Jimmy honestly didn't believe that his dreams were achievable. Jimmy was capable of so much, Thomas _knew_ that, but he had to persuade Jimmy that too…

An idea slowly started to grow in his mind, aided by the bravado that the beer had given him. Maybe Jimmy _could_ achieve his potential; he just needed someone to push him in the right direction.

 _Well_ , he thought, _couldn't hurt to try._

And he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Jimmy woke up early the following morning as the light shone through the window, the crick in his neck making itself known as soon as he surfaced into consciousness. It took him a few seconds to work out exactly why he was sat in such an odd position, and had somehow managed to sleep deeply for hours like that, before he remembered that he'd fallen asleep next to Thomas, seemingly curled up under his arm.

"Morning, sleepy-head."

Jimmy jumped up at the voice, not aware that Matthew was there. He scowled at his roommate who was smiling amusedly while eating toast, leant against the kitchen counter.

"Looks like you two had a _really_ wild night," Matthew grinned, indicating the four empty bottles of beer on the floor.

Jimmy mumbled, "Shut up." He opened the fridge, grabbing the milk and drinking straight from the bottle.

"Someone got out of the wrong side of the sofa," said Matthew. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing. I've got to get to work." Determined to leave as quickly as possible, he tore off the previous day's shirt and tugged on a fresh one before briskly leaving the flat as Matthew shouted, "Your shift doesn't start for another five hours!"

Thomas woke with a start as the door slammed shut, looking around for a few seconds with wide eyes before he remembered where he was.

"Oh," he said dejectedly to Matthew when he realised that Jimmy had just left. "I thought…" he shook his head. "Never mind."

Matthew stood for a moment, thinking. He put his plate into the sink before sitting down at the far end of the sofa, turning slightly so he was facing Thomas. "How are you doing?"

"Fine, I guess," Thomas shrugged awkwardly, unused to having one-on-one time with Matthew. "Why do you ask?"

"You just seem a little…" Matthew thought for a moment, racking his brains for the right word before settling on, "…down."

"You've been talking to Mary," Thomas accused, tugging his shoes on quickly. "Go on; what did she say to you?"

"She didn't say anything," Matthew said quickly. "She _wouldn't_ say anything. But it doesn't take a genius to work out that you're looking a bit… glum."

Thomas stood up, grabbing his bag as he strode towards the door. "Well, she's all yours now, so what do you care?" He tugged the door open, grabbing his coat from the pegs.

"Wait!"

Thomas paused in the doorway as he pulled his coat on, turning. "What?"

"You - " Matthew looked lost for words. "You – you're good for Jimmy."

There was a long silence as Thomas looked at Matthew inquisitively, trying to work out the meaning behind what he'd said. "Try telling him that," he said scornfully. "And – I suppose you're good for Mary. Or, well, you're _too_ good for Mary."

"I, er, wouldn't go that far," Matthew laughed awkwardly. "Well, I'd better let you be going. But I'll see you on Saturday?"

"Saturday?"

"The race."

"Oh!" Thomas rolled his eyes. "The _race_ , how could I forget! No, I'll be there – as mediator if nothing else."

Matthew nodded awkwardly at him, and Thomas left.

* * *

That evening, Thomas tried his best to focus on his essays and assignments but couldn't concentrate for more than a few seconds. The work that he usually found so fascinating and inspiring had never seemed more dull and more pointless as he sat surrounded by textbooks bits and pieces of structures that he was building for class.

Instead, he was rifling through a pile of leaflets that he'd picked up in the foyer of the music department on his way home from lectures. They all seemed the same to him; an artistic photograph of someone playing an instrument on the cover, a list of presumably impressive alumni, and pictures of the various performance spaces. He went through each one, highlighting anything that he thought might be relevant, writing numbers on the front as to which ones looked better than others.

With the various leaflets spread in front of him, he opened up a website on his laptop and started to type.

 **APPLICATION FOR MUSIC AND DRAMA COLLEGES, COURSES BEGINNING IN 2017**

 **Name:** _James Kent_


	12. Chapter 12

**This chapter ended up super long, so I split it in two. Enjoy! :)**

 **Chapter 12**

 _In which the Oxford vs. Cambridge boat race takes place._

The sun had yet to rise when Mary's alarm went off on Saturday morning. She blearily reached over to switch it off, trying to remember why she'd set an alarm for six in the morning on the weekend, before she remembered.

It was race day.

Within a couple of seconds she was wide awake, dashing out of bed and to the bathrooms to shower and then start on her two-mile warm-up run. The air was cool and crisp as the ran, the first few buds of spring starting to push through the frosty ground with only the smallest splashes of colour peaking through in the darkness.

By the time she made it back to the college, showered again and had put on her kit, it was time for the rower's breakfast, as it was known: a plate piled high with at least two of everything.

"Good morning," she greeted Thomas and Tom as she slid onto a bench opposite them, digging into her breakfast, her usual delicacy compromised with how hungry she was.

"You're cheerful this morning," Thomas said, eyeing Mary's plate of sausages, bacon, hash browns, beans, black pudding and fried bread, poking miserably at his own cornflakes. "I would have thought you'd be a bit more nervous."

"Me? Nervous?" Mary laughed loudly. "What on earth for? We're going to win; nothing to worry about there."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Don't get too cocky, though."

Mary huffed as Tom piped up, "I'm going to meet Sybil at the station, if either of you would like to come?"

"We'll meet you down by the river," Mary said through a mouthful of bacon. "Don't want to intrude. Besides, I still don't know why she wanted to come."

"Well, you and Edith are racing together; she wanted to support you both."

"That's absolutely fine, I suppose. As long as she supports _us_." It was hard to tell quite how much Mary was joking.

"Because God forbid she be impartial," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "I'll see you both later, then. And Mary, if I don't see you – good luck. _I'll_ be cheering for Oxford, even if Sybil won't."

Mary and Thomas waved goodbye to Tom.

"You're really not nervous, then?" Thomas asked.

Mary admitted, "A little bit. But it's more excitement and anticipation. I _know_ how good the team is, and I know we can win. Besides, I've been 'leaking' false information to Edith for months now; she thinks our fastest speed is about eighty percent of our average. As long as we stay focused? We can easily beat them."

"Good," Thomas said decisively. "Now, just in case you need an edge, I've been doing some research on the Cambridge team – purely for trash-talk purposes, of course."

"You never fail to deliver," Mary grinned, taking the notes that Thomas brought out of his bag. "Ooh, Ethel got pregnant in sixth form?! You've outdone yourself; some of this is borderline blackmail material. Oh, but braces and acne stories? This is _perfect_."

"Think of it as my contribution to the sporting life of the university," Thomas said dryly. "Right, we'd better be going, or we'll miss the first race."

* * *

"Good morning!" Mary greeted Matthew and Jimmy as they met them by the river bank, pushing through the crowds.

"Morning," they replied.

"Ready to go and do us proud?" Matthew asked, shivering from the morning chill.

Mary smiled. "I was born ready."

"Like we ever doubted it!"

"Mary?"

Mary turned at the call of her name to see Sybil running towards her, a bemused Tom hanging back.

"Mary, there you are! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

"You saw me just a few weeks ago," Mary chided, but hugged Sybil nonetheless. "Good journey?"

"Not bad. Have you seen Edith yet?"

"Not yet." Mary didn't even try to sound disappointed. "The Cambridge teams arrived an hour ago but they've been getting ready; she should be here soon, it's the men's races first." She cleared her throat awkwardly, stepping back slightly. "Sybil, have you met Matthew? Matthew, this is my youngest sister, Sybil."

"It's a pleasure," Matthew said warmly, holding a hand out to shake. "I've heard so much about you."

"I wish I could say the same," Sybil said knowingly, eyeing Mary. "But it's wonderful to meet you. And –" She turned to Jimmy. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met?"

"Jimmy. I'm, er, Matthew's flatmate."

"Well, it's simply splendid to meet you both," Sybil gushed, taking Tom's hand once introductions were finished with.

"Do you reckon that's - " Jimmy said, gesturing to behind Sybil and Tom. They all turned to look, a large group of students in matching kits coming towards them.

"Dear Lord, here she comes," Mary intoned as she spotted Edith in the middle of the pack, gossiping with a blonde girl next to her.

Sybil groaned, clearly irritated. "Really, Mary, I wish you wouldn't be like that."

"Like what?" Mary feigned ignorance.

But Sybil never got to reply as Edith and her friend reached them.

"Hello, Sybil darling!" she said, pulling her younger sister into a hug before saying coldly, "Good day, Mary."

"Hello, Edith," Mary replied, just as stiffly.

Pretending to shudder dramatically, Jimmy interrupted. "Brr, is it just me or did it just get chilly in here?!"

Edith laughed embarrassingly loudly while Mary looked infuriated, glaring at Jimmy. "That really is very amusing! You see, Mary? You get the joke?"

"Of course I get the joke," Mary said, dangerously quietly.

Matthew quickly butted in, eager to relieve some of the tension. "How about we, er, do introductions? I'm Matthew, Mary's – er – friend, and this is my flatmate Jimmy. I presume you know Thomas, and Tom, and you must be Edith?"

"Yes," Edith said, looking mildly phased that he seemed to know her name. "I dare say Mary has spoken about me, then?"

"Oh!" Matthew tried (and failed) to look blasé. "Oh, er, maybe once or twice. Who is, er, sorry, I don't think I - " He quickly indicated towards Edith's friend in an attempt to shift the focus of attention.

"Laura," the girl smiled. "I'm on the team with Edith."

"Oh, yes," Mary said smugly, and Thomas noticed her slipping the piece of paper he'd given her back into her pocket. "You know, I find it amazing that they still let you on any rowing team."

"Why's that?" Laura asked nervously, going white.

"I heard that you completely _ruined_ your college team's chances last year when you broke up with your girlfriend – the _captain_ – ten minutes before the race. Rather public and rather messy, I seem to remember."

"How do you - " Laura breathed, but stopped when Edith put a hand on her arm.

"It's okay," Edith said, clearly full of her own gossip. "Even Mary has her secrets. Tell me, Mary, do your new friends know about Kamal?"

"Kamal?" Matthew asked, clearly torn between curiosity and jealousy.

"It's nothing," Mary tried to say, but Edith beat her to it.

"Oh, so you _don't_ know?" Edith grinned. "It was a few years ago now – Mary was sixteen."

"Edith!" Mary snapped, her tone sharp and warning.

"He was a Turkish exchange student, a couple of years older – although that never bothered Mary - "

"Edith!" This time, there was something in Mary's voice that made Edith stop talking at once. There was a long silence as Mary looked between Edith and her expectant friends. When she spoke again, her voice was worryingly low, as if at any moment she might snap and turn into some sort of monstrous being. "Edith, if anyone is going to tell the story, it's going to be me. Unless you want me telling all of these lovely people about Fake Patrick?"

Seven voices chorused back, "We don't talk about Fake Patrick."

"Good," Mary said, glad that it was settled before facing up to the reality of the situation. "Well… as Edith said, I was sixteen, and Kamal was an eighteen-year-old exchange student from Turkey. He was staying with my friend Evelyn - "

"Friend!" Edith guffawed.

"We'd been on the odd date, and – you know – made out a bit. But we weren't together or anything; it was just casual." She determinedly avoided making eye contact with Matthew, who seemed to balloon in jealousy at the thought of sixteen-year-old Mary dating. "Anyway, so I met Kamal, and we hit it off, and we… well… we sort of ended up going, um, all the way."

"What?!" Matthew exclaimed, scandalised, as Jimmy called out, "Go Mary!". It was clear from the look on Sybil's face that she'd only been told parts of this story before, and suddenly it was all beginning to make far too much sense.

"So we were, you know, at it," Mary said, pushing through her embarrassment, "and right at the, um, the moment when he _finished_ , he just… collapsed."

If Matthew had been shocked before, it was nothing compared to now; his hands flew to his mouth as realisation dawned. Edith was grinning smugly and Thomas was attempting to hide how much he was laughing, while Jimmy didn't even bother. Even Tom was chuckling, if looking worried as to where the story was going to end.

"It turned out," Mary soldiered on, "that he had an undiagnosed heart condition and he had suffered a heart attack. I called an ambulance, he went to hospital and was treated, and returned to Turkey as soon as he was well enough. But, needless to say, we did _not_ stay in touch."

"Well, would you look at that," Edith said once everyone had stopped laughing at Mary's expense. "Mary Grantham; so terrible in bed that she nearly killed a man."

"Or so _brilliant_ in bed," Thomas chipped in, ignoring the odd looks that Jimmy and Matthew gave him.

Mary was saved from any further embarrassment by an announcement coming over the speakers that had been set up all along the bustling river bank. "First up! Men's eights!"

They all hurried to the barrier ready to watch the race, cheering loudly as soon as the starting klaxon went off. Edith and Laura cheered "Cambridge! Cambridge!" as loud as they could but were drowned out by the others (bar Sybil) who were yelling "OXFORD!" across the river.

For the first few hundred metres, the Oxford team were easily further ahead; they'd had a good start, putting them well ahead of the Cambridge team. After a while, though, they started to lose their steam; the effort they'd put in at the start couldn't be help up through the whole race, and inch by inch they were overtaken, occasionally regaining some ground before once again dropping behind. By the time they reached the finish line, all of the spectators screaming themselves hoarse, the Cambridge team were well ahead, and despite knowing the river better, the Oxford team had lost.

"Well, well, well," Edith said smugly as Tom leant over the railings, his head in his hands. "Looks like Cambridge was victorious!"

"In _this_ race." Mary was seemingly unperturbed by her university's loss. "We both know that the real race has yet to come, and next time you may not be so lucky."

"We'll see about that. Now, if you'll excuse us; we have to go and meet our team." She grabbed Laura's elbow and marched her off to where the Cambridge women's team was preparing.

Mary sighed despairingly. "Well, I should also be off. See you all later!"

"Good luck!" They all called, waving as she went to find the Oxford team.

"Wait; Mary!"

She spun around to see Matthew running towards her. "What, what is it?"

He hesitated for a moment, before leaning forwards and quickly kissing her cheek. "Just… just do us proud, okay?"

She smiled a rare, genuine smile. "I will."

* * *

"And now, the Women's Eights! Oxford versus Cambridge! On your marks… get set…"

The crowd roared as the klaxon went off, the two boats swiftly cutting through the water. They were neck and neck; there was virtually no difference between them as they rowed through the first stretch.

Mary was more focused than she'd ever been, and she could feel that the concentration was shared through the team, all in exact synchronisation as the cox called out from the end of the boat. They were going faster than they'd ever gone before, she was sure of it; the only question was whether or not they could keep it up.

They navigated the first bend in the river with an ease and grace that the Cambridge team didn't have as they jerkily turned, and at one point it almost looked like they were going to hit the bank. While they recovered it had cost them precious seconds, and the Oxford team were making the most of the advantage, powering forwards and leaving the Cambridge team behind. The Cambridge team did everything they could to catch up, but wasn't enough; every time they even got close to the Oxford team, they would push on ahead, closer and closer to the finish line.

In the last five hundred metres, it was like nothing Mary had ever seen or felt before. The sheer power that the team was exerting far outstripped anything they'd ever done in training, and they rowed as if their lives depended on it as the finish line got closer and closer and the Cambridge boat was left further and further behind before –

They'd won.

The feeling of euphoria that washed over Mary was like an addictive drug, forcing a smile on her face and her heart to beat out of her chest and her head to feel sky high. Everything was happening at once; the joyful hugs from her teammates, the deafening cheers from the crowd, their coach telling them that they'd been the fastest team in decades. It didn't even matter that she'd beaten Edith, and she felt none of the usual boastful pride when she saw the Cambridge team grudgingly make their way out of the water. The only thing she was capable of feeling was the sheer exhilaration of unbridled joy.

She had thought that nothing could top this; that this moment, right now, must be the happiest that she had ever been, and, indeed, the happiest that she ever could be, but somehow – without any explanation – she felt her elation increase tenfold when she ran onto the river bank, letting go of the boat that they'd dragged out, and threw her arms around a beaming Matthew.


	13. Chapter 13

**Spoiler-y warnings for implication of sex, violence and homophobic language.**

 **Chapter 13**

 _In which the outcome of the race is celebrated, and Thomas goes on a date._

All of the pubs in Oxford were full that night, packed to the brim with excited students. The outcome of the women's race had seemingly boosted the mood of the entire student population, and they had turned out in force to celebrate.

Tom and Sybil had gone to find dinner elsewhere, but Mary, Matthew, Thomas and Jimmy were sticking their heads round every pub door, looking for a spot. Every few metres someone would recognise Mary's kit, which she still hadn't changed out of, and congratulate her – either with a 'well done' and the odd pat on the back, or with drunken hugs. Despite the number of people wanting high fives or handshakes, though, she never let go Matthew's hand, even when they were weaving through large crowds or navigating busy doorways.

After twenty minutes of searching they finally found a pub that had some room. The atmosphere was slightly less celebratory inside, and the reason why soon became apparent; this was where the Cambridge teams were. There were a few toasts and cheers amongst the men's teams, but the women's team seemed to be drinking their sorrows, determined to forget their miserable defeat.

"Are you sure you want to go in here?" Matthew asked, dubious.

"Of course, this is fine," Mary said as she eyed the Cambridge team. "Edith won't want to talk to me, not now; it will be bliss."

They found a table with four mis-matched chairs and stools around it, pulling them up and huddling round.

"Well, I think first round should be on me," Mary said, fishing her purse out of her bag. "Who wants what?"

"Whatever's on tap for me, please," said Jimmy.

Thomas nodded in agreement. "Yeah, me too." He turned to smile at Jimmy who wouldn't meet his gaze, instead picking at the wood of the table.

"I'll go with you, I want to see what wine's they've got," Matthew said as his phone began to ring. "Oh, just give me a second, sorry - "

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen – withheld number. "Hello? Yes, speaking. I – what? You, you mean… I – I'm sorry, could you just – wait one second - " He turned to the others, his face ashen. "I – I need to take this, I'll be – I'll, um, outside."

Three pairs of worried eyes followed him as he dashed out, phone held tightly to his ear.

Thomas looked up to see Mary's face uncharacteristically concerned.

"I'd better check he's alright," she said hollowly, squeezing Thomas' shoulder before following Matthew out.

"No, I – I understand. I'll be – I'll be there as soon as I can," Matthew was saying as she came outside, leaning against the wall as if it were the only thing holding him up. "Yes – um – thank you. Goodbye."

He let out an enormous sigh as he dropped his phone to the ground before pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Matthew?" Mary asked tentatively. "Is… is everything okay?"

"It's my mother," he said, almost silently, his voice shaking. "She – she's got – she - "

Mary slowly wrapped her arms around him and he fell into the embrace, crying into her shoulder.

"She's – she's got worse," he sobbed. "Much, much worse. They didn't say so, but I think – I don't think she – she – they said to get there soon. I can't lose her, Mary, I can't."

She rubbed his back as he cried, holding back tears of her own, focused on caring for Matthew.

"I should - " he stepped back, furiously wiping his eyes. "If – if I run I'll still make the last train to Manchester, except – dammit, it's the weekend, I've missed it, but there should be one first thing, I have to – I have to go, I don't - "

"Matthew!" Mary said determinedly, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Matthew, I have a car. I'm driving you to Manchester, right now. I'm going to go and grab my bag and then we can go. It's parked just a few streets away, we will be there in a matter of hours and I am _excellent_ at going over the speed limit. I will get you there; I promise."

"You do?" Matthew sniffed.

She nodded, filled with resolve. "Yes. I promise." She only hoped it was one she could keep.

She ran inside, ignoring the confused bartender as she grabbed her bag. "Matthew's mother's ill; I'm taking him up to Manchester."

"What? Now?!" Thomas asked incredulously.

"Yes, now! I'll let you know when I'll be back. Have a good night." She kissed Thomas on the cheek fleetingly. "I'll see you in a couple of days. Bye, Jimmy!"

They both sat in stunned silence as Mary swept back out, neither of them knowing what to say. Jimmy glanced at Thomas once or twice as if wanting to say something, but seemed to think better of it.

"Are you okay?" Thomas asked eventually.

"Me? Oh, er, yeah, I'm fine – why wouldn't I be?" He still wouldn't meet Thomas' eyes.

"Well," Thomas shrugged uncertainly. "I know you, er, knew Matthew's mother. So it would be okay. You know, if – if you were upset or, or something."

"Oh. Well – yes, I suppose so." He stood up suddenly, unable to take the odd tension between them any more. "I – I need the loo."

"Okay," Thomas said. "I'll – I'll get those drinks then."

He stood up as Jimmy disappeared to the toilets, making his way to the bar. As he was trying to get the waiter's attention, though, someone called his name.

"Thomas?"

He turned to see Edward sat on the barstool next to him. "Oh, Edward! Hello, I – I didn't see you there."

"That's my trick," Edward chuckled, pointing to his glasses. "Are you…"

He trailed off, laughing nervously to himself and staring at his pint.

"Am I…?"

"I just – I just wondered - " Edward stammered out, "If you… if I could buy you a drink?"

Thomas spluttered slightly. "Oh, you… you mean, me and you, um… is this, buying me a drink or, you know, _buying me a drink_?"

Edward shrugged nervously. "I was… I was hoping for the second one, but if I've got this wrong, I – I understand."

"No!" Thomas said quickly and louder than he had attended. "No, I mean – you've not got this wrong. And… and I will gladly accept that drink."

If Jimmy was being completely honest with himself, he would admit that he'd deliberately loitered in the bathroom, spending far longer than he should washing his hands, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to get his head straight. He couldn't work it out; all he could think about, no matter what he was doing, was _Thomas_. There was no explanation for it; even the smallest things brought the same face to mind. Every time he made a mocha, or played Thomas' favourite music, or even saw someone tall with dark hair; all he could think of was Thomas.

His hands still shaking, he forced himself to go back out but Thomas wasn't at the table they'd been sitting at. Glancing towards the bar, he immediately spotted Thomas chatting to a boy he didn't recognise. He took a few steps towards them, going to interrupt, but something stopped him. There was a certain something about the way that they were talking, the way they were together, that made Jimmy think that perhaps he wouldn't be welcome in their conversation.

Slipping back into his seat he kept one eye on them, never too obvious, but determined to try and work out what was going on. The other boy was slightly shorter than Thomas, with curly blond hair and thick glasses, and even Jimmy had to admit that he was good-looking. Something about the way he was acting around Thomas, though, didn't sit well with Jimmy. Every time he laughed at something Thomas said the boy ducked his head shyly, and his hand was resting quite a way forward on the bar, so close that his fingers were brushing against Thomas' arm. The boy said something and Jimmy saw Thomas blush, embarrassed, and for a moment Jimmy thought Thomas was about to stand up and leave before –

No. He wasn't leaving; he was shifting forwards so that their knees were pressed together. Jimmy watched as Thomas turned to the barman and ordered two more drinks – clearly insisting to his companion that he pay for both of them.

They were – they were _flirting_ , Jimmy realised. Thomas and this unknown boy – who he seemed to be _really_ friendly with – were flirting with each other, for the whole world to see. He was shocked, of course he was, but something about it… made sense. He'd always figured that there was something odd about Mary and Thomas' relationship; maybe this was it.

He couldn't stand to sit there much longer; who did this boy think he was, sitting and _flirting_ with Thomas that way? Why was Thomas letting it happen? Did – did Thomas like him? This boy that Jimmy had never seen before in his life?

Standing up so quickly that his stool fell to the floor, he turned away from the bar; he couldn't bear to watch for any longer. His eyes skimmed over the rest of the pub, wondering if it was worth staying or just going home, before his eyes fell over the Cambridge team, sitting quietly with their drinks.

"Hello, Edith," he said as he sauntered up. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Oh, hello – Jimmy, wasn't it?" she asked, her eyes brightening slightly as she smiled in a way that Jimmy had come to associate with Mary. "Of course, feel free! Here, we'll move up so that there's more room."

As he sat down he couldn't help but glance up at the bar again, where Thomas and the other boy were still chatting away, laughing together. After a few seconds he realised that the other boy had rested his foot on the bar on Thomas' stool, their calves pressed together, and an unpleasant feeling swooped through Jimmy's stomach.

"Are you alright?" He jumped as Edith spoke, not having realised that she was watching him.

"Fine," he said quickly, realising that he was doing a terrible job of being convincing. "I – I'm fine. How, um, how are you?"

He didn't miss the way Edith glanced to her friend – Laura, he thought – before answering. "Me too. Fine, I mean. Do you want a drink?"

"I would kill for one," Jimmy breathed out, and Edith laughed as she stood up and went towards the bar.

"Got it! Believe me; I understand."

* * *

"You really don't have to walk me home, you know," Edward said as they walked down the high street, close enough that the backs of their fingers kept brushing against each other.

Thomas shrugged. "I wanted to. It's not that I don't think you can get back by yourself, or anything like that, I just…" He trailed off. "Will you laugh if I say that I just didn't want to say goodbye to you quite yet?"

Edward did laugh, but it wasn't mocking. "That's very sweet of you, Thomas."

"People don't call me sweet very often," Thomas said bashfully.

"Good," Edward said, smiling mischievously. "I wouldn't want there to be any competition."

Thomas stopped walking, looking at Edward quizzically. "You… you don't…"

Sighing with exasperation, Edward grabbed Thomas' elbow and tugged him forwards to carry on walking. "I fancy you? Yes, Thomas, of course I fancy you! How have you not worked that out yet?"

Thomas mumbled something incoherently.

"What?" Edward asked.

"I just… well, people don't fancy me very often, that's all."

"Really?" Edward asked incredulously. "I would have thought… a guy like you? I mean, you're so good-looking, and confident; I would have thought they'd be queueing down the street for a chance with you."

"No, it's – it's not _quite_ like that," Thomas said, blushing. "Is it – is it pathetic if this has been my first proper date since I was in school?"

"While the rational side of me is, quite frankly, amazed at that, the selfish part of me is glad. Like I said; less competition!"

They both jumped as Thomas' phone went off, beeping with a new message.

"It's from Mary," he said as he checked it. "She's made it to Manchester; Matthew's with his mother."

"Good," Edward said decisively. "Being in hospital is awful; I'm glad Mrs Crawley doesn't have to go through it alone."

He sighed when Thomas looked at him questioningly.

"My… my eyes," he said eventually. "I'll save the full story for another day. I, um, don't want to put a dampener on the evening."

"Of course," Thomas said, understanding. "Well… I guess this is you, then!"

"Yup," Edward said. "St Hilda's. Thomas, I… I had a wonderful time tonight, really. I… I hope we can, um, do this again, sometime?"

He looked so hopeful and optimistic that it killed Thomas inside as he crossed his arms and looked down at his shoes where he was kicking at the pavement. "Edward, I… I don't think that's a good idea. I – I really enjoyed myself, really, I did, but I just…"

"I see," Edward said, his voice suddenly cold and shut off as he took a few steps about, pushing his hands into his pockets. "Or rather, I don't. That's the problem, isn't it? It _always_ is. I meet a nice guy and we chat and he had a 'really nice time' but he doesn't want to date some stupid kid who's practically blind - "

"No!" Thomas shouted, interrupting him. "No, that's – that's not it at all, I swear, and the thought that some people might act that way towards you is - well, it's shit – but that's not it, I promise, it's just…" He took a deep breath. "I… I'm not out. Like, spectacularly so. I – for God's sake, I told everyone I had a girlfriend because I was too goddamn scared to come out! And you… you're so brilliant and so proud and so unbelievably optimistic about everything despite all of the crap you've been through, and I – I can't do that to you. I can't expect you to hide for my sake. I don't _want_ you to hide. I have a whole list of issues and this evening was okay but sometimes I - " He paused, breathing deeply. "The point is, you deserve better than me."

"You're ridiculous!" Edward said, putting his hands to his head in disbelief. "How could you even think that? I – Okay, look. I'm not asking if I can bring you home to meet my mother, or if I can change my relationship status on Facebook, or if we can walk to lectures holding hands. All I'm asking for is a second date. And then, we'll see if we want a third date. And then maybe a fourth. We'll just… take it as it goes. No pressure."

There was a long silence. "You're sure?" Thomas asked tentatively.

Edward took a step forward, taking Thomas' hand. "Positive."

He lifted a hand to Thomas' cheek and leaned in slowly, giving Thomas every chance to pull away, but Thomas leant forwards too and their lips met in a gentle kiss.

"So, a second date, then?" Edward asked teasingly, laughing as Thomas blushed and took his hand.

"Yes, yes! A second date! I'll text you – wait, give me your number." He let go of Edward's hand so he could search through his pockets, eventually finding a pen and scrap of paper to write it on.

"There," Edward said, handing back the paper. "All sorted."

"Great! Okay, so… I'll see you around, then?"

"Yeah," Edward grinned, turning to go into his college and waving Thomas goodbye. "See you around."

* * *

"I can't believe we stayed so late at the pub that we got kicked out," Jimmy giggled as they staggered down the street, arms around each other. "Must've been – must've been aaages since that last happened."

"I don't think," Edith hiccupped, "I don't think I've _ever_ been out so late."

"Wow! Got a real – a real wild one here. Oh, wait, I – I think this is Matthew's flat. I think. You want to, you want to come up?"

"Jimmy," Edith giggled, "Are you pro- propo- propro- trying to, trying to, sleep? With me? Like, sexy sleep?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

As they clambered up the stairs to Matthew's apartment, giggling loudly, Thomas wandered home through the streets of Oxford, humming to himself, unaware of anything going on around him. He was just so damn _happy_. For the first time, someone was interested in _him_ and, even better, they were interested in him back. He was so distracted, already planning their second date, that he didn't even notice the group that were following him.

"Let's do it in Matthew's bed," Jimmy stage-whispered, leading to both of them collapsing into another fit of the giggles.

He still liked Jimmy, of course he did, Thomas thought; he didn't think that there would ever be a time when he _wouldn't_ like Jimmy. But then, you could fancy more than one person at the same time, right? And maybe if things went well with Edward, it would be easier to think of Jimmy as just a friend.

They couldn't find the light-switch in Matthew's room so they put their phone torches on, pushing each other into the tiny room and laughing.

Thomas was about halfway home when he realised that he was being followed. Glancing behind him every few seconds, he started to walk faster, sure that it was nothing to worry about. Except that they sped up to catch up with him.

Edith jumped onto Matthew's bed, tugging her shirt off over her head and pulling at Jimmy's shirt buttons.

As soon as he did it he knew it was a bad idea; why had he taken the shortcut? Why didn't he stick to the well-lit, busier streets? As soon as he was out of the streetlamp's glare he was slammed into a wall, his head cracking against the stone work.

"There you are, you little faggot."

Jimmy pushed Edith down, making quick work of his own jeans and inelegantly attempting to pull his socks off before giving up; they could stay on.

Thomas winced as a fist collided with his jaw, swiftly followed by another one to his stomach. He tried to slip away but there were too many hands pinning him, and the alcohol which was clearly fuelling these men was fogging his brain.

"That's it, that's it, keep going, oh God, keep going!"

"Please, please, stop stop stop, get off, please stop!"

It was over quickly.

Jimmy threw himself down onto the bed next to Edith. "Man, I needed that."

Thomas didn't say anything. He couldn't. He couldn't move, he could barely breathe, he couldn't see beyond the cobblestones in front of his eyes. Was that blood?

Mind still numb from the alcohol, their bodies exhausted, Edith and Jimmy easily went to sleep.

Unable to stay awake any longer, Thomas let his mind drift away until everything was black.

 **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/subscribed/favourited so far! Keep them coming!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 _In which Thomas wakes up, finding himself in hospital._

"Shit."

Jimmy winced at the sunlight as he opened his eyes, rubbing at his pounding forehead. He stretched out in the comfy bed – much comfier than usual – freezing as his arm hit something warm and solid.

Turning his head slowly, dreading what he knew he was going to see, his gaze was dragged to Edith's sleeping form.

" _Shit_."

He sat up quickly, groaning as his head took a few seconds to catch up with the rest of his body. How could he have been so stupid? Just – Edith? Really?

The hangover.

Oh, yeah. The number of shots they'd each done after their first few pints _might_ have had something to do with it.

"Mmhmm."

Jimmy determinedly stayed staring straight ahead as Edith stirred, desperate not to have to talk to her. There was a long silence. He felt the mattress shift slightly as she sat up, still resolutely not turning around.

"Bloody hell, Jimmy."

"That, er," he stammered, "That just about sums it up."

He still didn't turn as she pulled a blanket around herself, getting out of bed and grabbing her clothes which were strewn all over the floor.

"Where's the bathroom?" She asked quietly.

"Next door."

"Thank you."

As soon as she'd left the room, neither of them looking at each other, Jimmy picked up his own clothes and threw them on, not caring that they were from yesterday and smelt of sweat and spilt beer. Sitting on the edge of Matthew's bed he put his head in his hands, frantically trying to work out what had happened.

He remembered that Matthew had gone, that he was in Manchester, that his mother was seriously ill. He remembered going to the bathroom after Matthew and Mary had left, coming out to see –

To see Thomas, sitting and drinking and laughing with someone else.

 _Shit_.

"Hello?"

He jumped up as Edith leaned around the door, looking sheepish and still not meeting his eyes.

"Er – hi."

"I should – I should go," She said. "I mean, we're going back to Cambridge soon."

"Good. I mean - "

"It's fine. I know what you mean."

There was a stiff silence between them, neither of them daring to acknowledge anything more than was absolutely necessary.

"I'll – I'll be going, then," said Edith. "I, um, hope that things work out. With you."

She was gone before Jimmy could work out what she'd meant.

Absentmindedly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the messages using the last dregs of the previous day's battery.

 _28 missed calls_

 _9 messages_

 _1 voicemail_

Heart pounding, he opened the messages, his fingers trembling. What had happened? Was it Matthew? Had… had something happened to his mother?

 _28 missed calls from Mary Grantham_

Why… why was Mary so desperate to get into contact with him? They'd never been particularly close, only knowing each other through Matthew and Thomas; what on earth could have happened that she'd be this determined to get in touch?

He opened the messages.

 _Mary: Jimmy, answer your bloody phone!_

 _Mary: Where the hell are you?_

 _Mary: Please ring me back, please, please_

 _Mary: I need your help, you've got to pick up_

 _Mary: This isn't funny, Jimmy_

 _Mary: If you're still in the pub, I swear you'll regret it_

 _Mary: Seriously, what is wrong with you?! This is URGENT!_

 _Mary: Please. Please pick up. Please._

 _Mary: Just ring me when you can. Please._

He felt like he was going to throw up – and not from the hangover. This was serious; this was really, really bad. Heart in his mouth, he played the voicemail.

" _Jimmy, it's me, it's Mary. I don't know where the hell you are but just… ring me back as soon as you can, please? Mrs Crawley is okay, I mean, she's not great, but Matthew's with her and she – she's not as – not as bad as we thought she might be. It's Thomas, Jimmy, something's happened, the college rang his father, and he rang me, I'm just about to drive us back down to Oxford – thank goodness I was up north – but he, he's in the hospital, I don't know what happened but it's bad, just go and see him or something. Please? I – okay. Bye."_

Shit.

* * *

Everything was… odd.

He couldn't work out where he was; this wasn't his bed, he knew that, and the lights were much brighter than the thin cracks that trickle through the gaps in his curtains. As soon as he was awake enough to think, he ached; even breathing took an inordinate amount of effort, his head pounding, every inch of his skin tender where it touched the stiff bedsheets.

"Thomas? Thomas, are you – can you hear me? Please wake up, please! Thomas?"

He forced his eyes open, gasping in pain as the light increased the ache in his head tenfold. He tried to turn his head to where the voice was coming from, wincing at the pain in his neck and settling for just flitting his eyes around, trying to work out his surroundings. The room he was in was bright white and unfamiliar, and there was a chair by his bed where –

Where Edward was sitting.

"…Edward?" Thomas croaked, his voice dry.

Edward gasped as Thomas spoke, pulling his chair closer to the bed and going to take Thomas' hand before thinking better of it. "How are you – I mean, you – here, have some water, you'll need it…"

After a few seconds of the sound of things being knocked around Thomas realised that Edward didn't have his glasses on, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. He tried to reach for the jug himself but as soon as he lifted his arm pain shot across shoulder.

"Here," Edward said, panicked, when he finally managed to pour a glass of water, splashing the table his hands were shaking so much. "I think there's a – yes, here, there's a straw, this will – this will help – and I'll, I'll call the nurse, where's the damn button - "

If Thomas hadn't been in so much pain and if his head hadn't still been trying to work out what was going on, he would have been mortified at the situation; here he was, struggling to move while a guy he'd been on one date with held a glass of water for him.

"Are you - " Edward stammered as he put the glass of water down. "How are you feeling? I know that's – that's a stupid question, really."

"Am I in hospital?" Thomas answered in response, still trying to get his bearings in the room.

Edward reached for his glasses, putting them back on. "Yeah, you…" He swallowed awkwardly. "You're in the hospital, do you – do you remember what happened?"

Before Thomas could respond the door opened as the nurse came in. "Good morning, Mr Barrow," she said as she checked the clipboard at the end of his bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Everything – my – everything – hurts," Thomas said, still trying to figure out his surroundings. "What, what happened?"

"Here, let's sit you up," the nurse said, adjusting his bed so he was sitting up slightly. "How much do you remember, Mr Barrow?"

"We - " He glanced at Edward. "We were at a bar, we were chatting and we - " He threw Edward a look that told him that he remembered the flirting but did _not_ want to tell the nurse about it. "I, I walked you home. That's all I remember."

"Okay, Mr Barrow," the nurse said sympathetically. "The doctor will be here in a moment, he'll be able to go through everything with you. Now, are you comfortable? In much pain?"

Thomas gave a small nod.

"Can he get anything for that?" Edward asked quickly, concerned. "Surely you have morphine or something?"

"Not to worry," the nurse smiled. "We've already got the machine right here; you can use this control right here to decide your own dosage. You're on the lowest setting right now, but you can set it to whatever you want."

Groaning in appreciation, Thomas reached for the controls and turned them up as the doctor came in.

"Hello Mr Barrow, I'm Doctor Clarkson," he said, taking the clipboard from the nurse. "I see you've gone through your morphine dosage… have you had some water?"

"Yes, yes he has," Edward said quickly. "And – and he's not sure - "

"It's okay, Edward," said Thomas weakly. "I – I'm not sure what, what happened. I can't remember."

"Well, that's not unexpected," said Dr Clarkson. "You took a serious blow to the head, so it's not surprising that you can't remember the events leading up to it. How long is your memory blank for?"

"I can remember us walking home," Thomas said, confused. "It was… I think it was just after midnight, what… what happened? I don't – I can't - "

"Mr Barrow, you were found in the early hours of this morning," Dr Clarkson said, clearly sympathetic. "You were unconscious, it appears that you've been attacked." He looked back down at his notes. "From what we were able to diagnose so far, you appear to have a dislocated shoulder, three fractured ribs, and I suspect some internal bleeding. I would also say that a concussion is likely, given that you have trouble remembering and you hit your head hard enough to bleed; we've given you ten stitches along your hairline. There are multiple other cuts and bruises that we've patched up, so they will be uncomfortable for a while as you recover. We're going to have to keep you in here for a least a few days until you're up on your feet, perhaps longer." He scrawled something down at the end of the notes. "Any questions?"

Still confused, Thomas stammered out, "I… I'm not sure I understand, I can't - "

"Maybe…" started Edward. "Maybe I should explain? That might be, might be easier."

"Okay, then," said Dr Clarkson. "Right, I see you're all set with your morphine, and you've got some water. It won't be long until lunchtime now, and if you need anything else? Just press the button to call the nurse."

"Thank you," Edward said, realising that Thomas was still completely overwhelmed. He waited until the doctor and nurse had left before speaking again, turning to face Thomas. "Do you… how much do you remember about when we, er, when we walked home?"

"We… I remember that we were walking down the high street, but nothing after that."

"Well," Edward cleared his throat. "We got to St Hilda's – the college that I'm at – and we…"

He trailed off, blushing lightly.

"What?" Thomas looked at him blearily.

"We talked for a bit, you know, and you said that you, you weren't out and you didn't want me to have to hide for you and I told you that you were being absolutely ridiculous and that didn't matter and why don't we just go on a second date and you said okay and then - " He paused, catching his breath, before looking down, picking at a loose thread on his jeans, mumbling, "And then we kissed."

"We… we did?"

Edward nodded.

"Edward, I'm sorry, I - "

"What for?" Edward said forcefully. "You don't have to apologise, it was, it was nice, and you're a really wonderful guy, and - "

"No," Thomas whispered. "I'm sorry I don't remember it." He turned his hand over so it was facing upwards, reaching towards Edward who instantly understood the silent motion, slipping his hand into Thomas'.

"And, and then," Edward continued, clearing his throat, "And then, I wrote my phone number down for you and you put it into your pocket before you walked back to Downton. And somewhere along the way… somewhere along the way, some people – some despicable, awful people – beat you up. And, um, you were found, a couple of hours later. They called an ambulance, and the doctor's found my number in your pocket so they rang me, and I told them which college you went to so the college gave them your dad's number and your dad's driving down now, with Mary."

Thomas shook his head slightly, trying to make sense of the muddled information in his mind. "So, so my dad's coming down, he shouldn't be coming, he has to run the shop, and – and they don't know who did it? Or, or what happened? And we… we kissed?" He tried to sit up, wincing, as he looked around for something. "You said in my pockets, where, where are my things?"

"In this cabinet here, look," said Edward, trying to calm Thomas down. "You're safe now, they're going to look after you here, I promise."

"And you'll stay?"

Edward smiled. "Yes; I'll stay."

For a brief second Thomas returned the smile, before his gaze fell on their joined hands, his face falling. "What am I – what am I wearing, why do I, why is this, what is this?"

"It's a hospital gown, you have to - "

"No!" Thomas shouted, breathing heavily. "I, I can't, I can't let you… you can't…" He snatched back his hand, crossing both arms close to his chest.

When he would look back, later, when he was less confused about what was going on, less panicked and worried, he would realise that Edward had known exactly what he'd meant, had known exactly how to deal with it, but all he felt at that time was relief when Edward reached inside the cabinet. "Here, your jumper's here – how about you wear that? Over the gown, I mean? And when Mary gets here we'll try and get you some pyjamas."

"Thank you," Thomas whispered, taking the jumper from Edward and tugging it over his head.

"You don't need to thank me," Edward said quietly. "This – this is all my fault, if it hadn't been for me this would never have happened."

Thomas looked incredulous. "What do you mean?"

"If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have been walking back late in the first place, and besides, I – I should have called a taxi for you or something, it wasn't safe, I shouldn't have let you go back on your own!"

"Edward, listen to me. This was not your fault. Whatever – whatever happened, it's not your fault, it's _their_ fault. I promise."

"You… you do?" Edward said in a small voice.

"Yeah," said Thomas. "I'm just… I'm sorry that you have to sit here with me, you don't have to stay, really." It was clear that already the fog was starting to clear from his brain, rational thought slowly returning.

Edward shrugged. "I… I want to stay, Thomas. Really." He put his hand on the bed next to Thomas, who took it. "I really, really like you, Thomas. And I know that this is a terrible place to do this, but I don't want to let you go; not just yet. If that's okay with you, of course."

Thomas only nodded sleepily, a small smile gracing his face. The morphine was clearly beginning to do its job.

"Well, okay then," said Edward. "I think you should, er, get some sleep. You need all the rest you can get."

"Okay," Thomas agreed. "But first – Edward, can you… can you kiss me? Only I can't remember the first one, and I just - "

He was interrupted as Edward leant forwards, swiftly and chastely kissing him. "Was that… okay?"

"It was wonderful," Thomas said, his smile widening as he sank back into his pillow, his eyelids drooping. "I'm – I'm sorry, I'm just sleepy - "

"I'll be here when you wake up," Edward whispered. He watched as Thomas' eyes closed, his dark eyelashes standing out on the pale skin of one cheek and the bruised purple of the other. Thomas was just drifting off when –

BANG.

The door flew open.

"Thomas? Thomas, are you okay? THOMAS?!"

It was Jimmy.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 _In which Jimmy, Mary and Thomas' father visit Thomas in hospital, while Matthew visits his mother._

"Jimmy," Thomas breathed, staring at the open door. "Jimmy, what are you… what you doing here?"

"I'm visiting you, of course!" said Jimmy, pulling up the other chair and sitting so his knees were right up against the bed frame. "What happened, are you okay? Who's…" He glanced at Edward, "Who's this?"

His brain suddenly catching up with the situation, Thomas pulled his hand out of Edward's in a motion that Jimmy couldn't miss. Quickly standing up, trying to divert the conversation, Edward held out his hand for Jimmy to shake.

"I'm Edward, Thomas' friend; you must be Jimmy?"

Jimmy shook Edward's hand suspiciously. "You two were at the bar together last night, weren't you?"

"Um, yes?" said Edward, confused as to how Jimmy knew that.

"And you're… friends?" Jimmy pointed between Thomas and Edward, the word 'just' hanging in the air between them, unsaid.

Wearily, Thomas said, "Yes."

"Good," Jimmy nodded, looking lost and confused.

Standing up, Edward cleared his throat. "I'll, um… go and find some coffee. Stretch my legs. Do – do you want anything, Jimmy?"

Jimmy replied, "Fine, thanks," refusing to meet Edward's eyes.

"Okay, then." Edward stood up and left, throwing a glance to Thomas and hoping that it conveyed the goodbye kiss or squeeze of a hand that he was unable to give him. He received a small, sad smile in return, telling him that Thomas had got the message.

As soon as Edward had left, the door clicking shut behind him, Jimmy shot forwards to the edge of his seat. "Thomas, are you okay? What happened?"

"I don't remember," Thomas said, tired of having to go through the whole thing again. "Really, I don't. The doctor says I was beaten up or something on the way home, but I can't remember any of it."

His face stricken, Jimmy put his head in his hands. "Bloody hell, Thomas," he whispered, his voice trembling. "That – that's awful, how could – how is that - "

"I was walking back from dropping Edward off, apparently, and it happened. I have no idea, I just…" He sighed uncomfortably, shifting slightly in his bed. "Everything hurts and I just want to _sleep_."

"Okay," Jimmy murmured. "That's fine, you – you sleep as much as you need to."

He watched Thomas for a few seconds, waiting for him to close his eyes, but Thomas stayed as he was. "What? I thought you wanted to sleep?"

"Yes," said Thomas, "But it's obvious that you have something that you need to get off your chest. So, I'm listening. And _then_ I'll sleep."

"I did something stupid," Jimmy blurted out before he could stop himself. "Like, really, really stupid. I…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, more to give him a reason to look away from Thomas' perceptive gaze than anything else. "I slept with Edith," he whispered, feeling a heavy weight drop through his stomach as he so much as thought the words.

For a few seconds Thomas didn't say anything, a calculating look on his bruised face. Then, "Why are you telling me this?"

Jimmy shrugged. "I don't know, I just – I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

The question hit Jimmy like a sack of bricks. Why _was_ he sorry? Why was he filled with guilt like this? Yes, the morning had been horrifically awkward, but he'd had fun last night and so had Edith. He didn't owe explanations to anyone.

And yet…

"I don't know," he admitted eventually in a small voice.

"Well," Thomas said in his usual knowing drawl, pressing the button to readjust his bed, "Let me know when you've worked it out. For now, though, I'd like to sleep."

* * *

It was eerily loud in the hospital room.

The beeping of the heart monitor, the hum of the air-conditioning, the background sounds of nurses going about their work. All Matthew wanted was some peace and quiet; to be at home, sitting on the sofa with his mum, the only sounds the cat purring and maybe the fire crackling as they spoke or drank tea or played cards, happy and –

Happy and healthy. Making plans past the next forty-eight hours, not having to worry about whether or not the next medication was going to work or if tomorrow would look better or worse than today.

"Matthew?"

He turned to look at his mother who was sitting in bed, propped up on hospital pillows, looking paler and more fragile than ever.

"Yes?" He tried a smile.

Isobel Crawley sighed lovingly, despairing at her son. "Matthew, stop this. I wish you would lighten up a bit." He looked like he was about to protest, but her stern gaze silenced him. "Honestly, Matthew; I don't like to see you sitting there, moping about. I'll be alright, honestly, I will be."

"I know, Mother," said Matthew, his tone making it clear that she was being ridiculous. "I just… want to be with you, that's all. Someone's got to protect the poor nurses from you."

They both laughed at that, at memories of Isobel loudly telling the nurses what to do and how to do it.

"Why don't we play a game?" said Isobel. "Did you bring any with you?"

 _No, I didn't think to stop to pick up Monopoly on my way to visit you when I thought you were dying in hospital_ , Matthew thought bitterly, before chiding himself for even thinking such things. "No, I didn't; I have chess on my iPad, though."

Isobel huffed, "Well, it's not the same, but it will have to do."

Fetching his iPad out of his bag, Matthew pulled the table over so that they could both reach easily before setting the game up.

"White goes first," said Isobel. "Say, how's your friend doing? Mary?"

"Mother," Matthew blushed, busying himself in the game. "She's fine. We don't have to talk about her."

"She must be a very _good_ friend to you," Isobel mused, ignoring him. "After all, she drove you all this way in the middle of the night. Which, by the way, you absolutely _did not_ need to do."

Knowing that he was no more likely to win this argument this time than the previous thirteen times that they'd had it, Matthew ignored his mother's last comment. "What can I say, she's a nice person? You should really concentrate on the game if you don't want to lose within the first five minutes again."

However, Matthew's mother was never one to let go of a topic. "You know, I'm – I wouldn't exactly say _friends_ – with Mary's grandmother, and I have to say, the two of you give very contradictory accounts of her character."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," Isobel smiled knowingly, "Just that from what Violet's told me, Mary would have to care about a person a _lot_ in order to show them the same level of kindness that she's shown you."

"Mother, stop making things up, you've never in met her!"

After a few seconds Isobel pushed the table out of the way, looking straight into Matthew's eyes.

"Matthew," she said, frankly, "I know you think that I don't understand quite how ill I am, or that I'm being needlessly optimistic, but the truth is that I _do_ understand. I'm not going to sit here and complain about how I wish I'd done more with my time or tell you what music I want at my funeral, because I could instead be spending that time with you, making the most of it. And I don't want you to remember me as a dying, frail old woman; I want you to remember your mother, someone who loves you as far as the stars. I know I keep saying that you didn't need to come and see me, but I'm eternally grateful that you did, and I know that it's selfish of me to think so but I am. But I don't want you not living your life because of me. Just because I'm fading doesn't mean that you should too. I want you to have a life; don't… don't miss out. Don't let life – or people – pass you by because of me. That would be the worst thing that I could ever imagine happening."

Matthew had long since given up on hiding his tears, his cheeks damp and his eyes red from where he'd been rubbing them. "I love you," he sobbed, sniffing loudly as Isobel took his hand.

"Oh, my darling son," she said, tears glistening in her eyes as well, "I love you so much."

* * *

"The police came round," said Thomas, keeping his gaze focussed on his lap. "They wanted me to give a statement."

"What did you tell them?"

"The truth," Thomas shrugged. "That I couldn't remember anything. But the doctor thinks that my memory will start to come back soon, so I said I'd let them know."

"Good." His father nodded gruffly and leant back in his chair. "I want them to catch the bastards that did this to you and give them what they deserve."

"Dad - "

"No, Thomas! I mean it! And if the police don't do anything, they'll have me to deal with."

Thomas winced as he sat up, his dad quickly leaning forwards to help him adjust the pillows. "You – you really mean that?"

"No one hurts my son and gets away with it," Mr Barrow huffed, his eyebrows furrowed. "I'm just glad Mary was already up north and able to drive me down, I don't know what I would have done if I'd had to wait for the train. Are you - " He suddenly looked uncomfortable; clearly feelings were a topic that he didn't discuss very often. "How are you two doing, now? You know, after…" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "After you, er, broke up?"

Thomas' face burned with embarrassment. "We're fine. Friends."

"Okay, then," his father said. "You know, Thomas… she really is a lovely girl. And she was so – so supportive with, you know, everything you were going through at school, and even now, she's looking after you… Do you think that maybe - "

"No," Thomas said, his voice sharp as a blade. "We're – we're friends, Dad, nothing more."

"I know that, and I understand but - "

"No, Dad!" shouted Thomas, gasping in pain from the effort. "Just… just leave it."

Before his father could say anything else, the door opened as Mary came in with Thomas' backpack, full to bursting. "I picked up some things for you!" She said, pulling up the spare chair and opening the bag. "Here we go; two pairs of pyjamas, a few pairs of underwear, some clean clothes for when you're discharged, a couple of your favourite books and some toiletries. Just let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, Mary," Thomas said gratefully as the door swung open once more, revealing an out-of-breath Jimmy and Edward.

"I – I went to help," Jimmy panted, leaning against the doorframe. "Thought – Mary – might need – some – help."

"And as I kept saying," said Mary, clearly amused by the situation, "I was absolutely fine. I did _not_ need you two following me and bickering all the way to Thomas' room and back."

"What if," Edward wheezed, doubled over with hands on his thighs. "What if you'd wanted to carry something heavy? Or – or you'd forgotten his toothbrush? And how – how did you get here so fast, we're on the third floor?!"

Mary shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. "What can I say; I'm obviously much fitter than either of you."

"Liar!" Jimmy exclaimed. "You ran in and got the lift, we had to run up the stairs."

They were all torn away from their argument when Thomas started coughing from laughing too hard.

"Come on, you three," Mr Barrow said, only mildly amused. "Thomas needs his rest. Mary, thank you for getting his things. You two, whatever your names are, I'm sure I'm grateful for something. Now, go home and have some dinner, all of you; I'll stay here."

Jimmy made a point of waiting until Edward had left before saying goodbye, Mary rolling her eyes all the while.

"I hope you feel a bit better tomorrow, Thomas," she said as she left. "Goodnight, Mr Barrow."

"Goodnight, Mary," Mr Barrow said, clearly eager to see the back of them. He exhaled loudly once they'd all left, throwing himself down into the chair. "Your friends are certainly… unusual, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't say that," Thomas mumbled.

"Well, it's just, you know, not many lads have two pretty boys like those two chasing after them." It was hard to tell if he was amused or disapproving, or perhaps an odd conversation of the two.

"Don't call them that," Thomas mumbled. "They're my friends."

Mr Barrow sighed. "You're right; I'm sorry, Thomas. And I – I'm glad. That you have good friends, I mean. You deserve them, more than anyone."

Thomas smiled weakly, his eyes filled with sadness. "Thanks, Dad."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 _In which Thomas has an important thing to tell his father._

 _He couldn't breathe; every time he tried to get air in it was punched out again. He tried to scream but all he could do was grunt and plead. He could feel something sickly and warm running down his face and it took him a few seconds to realise it was his own blood. The world span as his head smashed against the cobblestones. Faces swam in front of his eyes and he lost track of the number of feet and fists._

"Thomas? Thomas, wake up!"

 _"There you are, you little faggot." He was begging, pleading with them to stop, but it only got worse and worse and worse._

"Thomas, you're dreaming, wake up!"

 _He felt so broken, desperately wishing that the pain would just stop and he didn't care how it just needed to stop now._

"Thomas come on, wake up!"

 _"There you are, you little faggot."_

"Thomas?"

 _Faggot. There you are. You little faggot._

"Please, Thomas, wake up!"

"NO!"

Thomas sat up with a start, his brain taking a few seconds to remember where he was.

That was right. In hospital.

"Thomas? Are you okay?"

He tried to answer but could only let out an excruciating sob, collapsing into the warm arms that wrapped around him.

"Oh, Thomas, it'll be okay, it's alright, Dad's here."

Thomas' ribs ached more and more with every wheezing breath he took, holding on to his father as if his life depended on it. "Dad," he whimpered, "Dad, they were – they wouldn't stop, Dad, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, Thomas, you have nothing to be sorry for," his father said. "This isn't your fault, you hear me? It _isn't_ _your fault_."

"No," Thomas leant back, curling in on himself, shaking his head back and forth. "No, it was my fault, it was my fault, I was so stupid, I shouldn't've, I was such an idiot, I - "

"What are you talking about?!" Mr Barrow took Thomas' hands from where they were pressed against his forehead. "Thomas, listen to me; this was not your fault. Not at all. Now – take deep breaths – that's it, that's it, slowly, breathe in with me… and out. Okay?"

Nodding, Thomas took in several deep, shuddering breaths, his hands shaking.

"Good." Mr Barrow sat on the edge of the narrow hospital bed, wrapping an arm around his son. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I remember," Thomas gasped, his voice trembling. "I remember all of it, all of it, they wouldn't stop Dad, I told them to stop and they wouldn't, they wouldn't…" He broke off into sobs again, curling into his father's embrace in a way that he hadn't since he was a child. "Why wouldn't they stop?"

Thomas' cries gradually evolved into silent tears, his head buried in his father's shoulder as his chest heaved with every breath. With every aching movement he was reminded of the kicks and punches, of their voices, of the copper smell of his own blood as he lay on the ground in pain. He desperately tried to distract himself, picturing in his head a working clock, following the cogs as they ticked around in methodical circles. He was aware of people coming in, checking that he was alright, but none of them registered with him. It was as if there was some sort of barrier separating him and them, keeping him locked inside his own head.

At some point – he couldn't have told you when – he drifted off into sleep, deep enough that the memories of shouts and screams were distant and muffled. When he woke up, his father wasn't there; instead, Edward was sat by his bed, holding his hand.

"Hello," Edward said softly as Thomas' eyes slowly fluttered open, smiling and squeezing his hand. "How are you doing?"

Thomas grunted a noncommittal response. "Where's my dad?"

"He went to get some lunch, I told him to go and get some fresh air. He won't be long." Edward's smile faded as he saw Thomas' harrowed look. "What happened, Thomas?"

"I remembered," Thomas breathed, trembling. "I… I can remember it all, everything that happened, and they – they won't stop, they won't stop…"

Edward brought his hand to Thomas' forehead, gently brushing his hair out of his eyes. "It's alright, you're safe now. You've got nothing to worry about, I promise." He swallowed nervously. "Do you… do you want to talk about it?"

Thomas didn't answer, only closing his eyes, slowly relaxing under Edward's attention.

"What about…" Edward cleared his throat. "What about talking to the police?"

Eyes flying open in panic, Thomas said, "No, I – I can't. It – I won't."

Edward sighed. "Thomas, I know it's hard, and you – you don't have to do it right away. But it would really help them. They might do this to someone else, and they – they deserve to be punished for what they did to you. Just… just think about it? Later, if you want."

"No!" Thomas shook his head furiously. "No, you don't understand, I can't tell them, I _can't_."

"Then help me to understand! I'm here for you, Thomas, and I want to help. _Please_."

Thomas sat silently for what felt like an age, before finally whispering, his voice shaking, "They… They knew, Edward. They must have seen us together and followed me or something, because they – they - " He closed his eyes as he took a few deep breaths, composing himself once more, "They knew, about… about me. And I – I can't tell the police, because then… then…"

As he tailed off, Edward wiped away his tears with the pad of his thumb. "I understand," he said softly. "Because then everyone will know."

Thomas only nodded, relieved that Edward understood. "Sometimes," he sniffed, "Sometimes I think that maybe it would be better if everyone knew. And I think about telling them, but then – then it all becomes a bit too much."

"I know the feeling," Edward said, causing Thomas to snort a small laugh. "Just remember… you don't have to tell _everyone_. And not at the same time. You could tell one person today, then not tell anyone else for six months. Or you could not tell anyone, and just… go with it. Let them work it out. It's scary – believe me, I know – but telling even just one person can make things so much easier."

No words came to his mind so instead Thomas sat up and pulled Edward into a tight hug, burying his head in his neck and breathing in his scent. Even when he heard the door open and his father come in, he didn't pull away until Mr Barrow had sat down on the chair next to his bed.

"I'll, er, see you later," said Edward, standing up and gently squeezing Thomas' shoulder. "I, er, should head back. Lectures tomorrow, you know. But I'll – I'll come and see you when I'm finished for the day."

"Okay. Thank you, for – for everything."

Any moment that they might have had was broken by Mr Barrow. "Yes, thanks Edward – you go and get some rest, okay?"

Edward nodded in agreement, waving Thomas goodbye as he left. "Okay. Er, bye, bye!"

"I brought you a sausage roll," said Mr Barrow after Edward had left, handing Thomas the paper bag which was already showing grease spots. "I figured it was better than whatever those nurses have given you. And, you know, it might remind you of home. Not that this will ever match up to a Yorkshire sausage roll."

Gingerly taking the paper bag, Thomas smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

While Mr Barrow busied himself with neatening the 'get well soon' cards that had appeared overnight, Thomas devoured his soggy, lukewarm sausage roll, thinking. He and his dad had never seen exactly eye to eye, but they'd pretty much got on well enough, if it had been a bit strenuous at times. They didn't exactly have a lot in common apart from a fascination with clocks.

Thomas had never really felt close with his father, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that his dad had always been there for him. When his mum left, with everything he'd gone through in school, and now this? He couldn't help but be continually amazed by the lengths his father went to in order to care for him.

Maybe… maybe telling him wouldn't be that bad. He could test the waters first, bring up the general concept before being specific. He should, really, and sooner rather than later so his dad didn't find out any other way.

More than he should; he wanted to. For the first time since he'd told Mary as a terrified fifteen-year-old, he felt desperate to share this huge secret that he was lugging around with him, to finally offload it.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his father got there first.

"So, er, your friend Edward seems nice."

Oh.

So, this was where the conversation was going.

What Thomas had planned to say in response to that was, 'Yes, he is,' but instead, before his mind could catch up, his mouth blurted out, "He's not my friend."

His father looked at him alarmed for a second. "Oh. Um… right."

"What I mean," Thomas said, hastily trying to patch it all up, "is that…"

He trailed off, thinking for a moment. This was it; he could hastily backtrack, try to salvage the conversation, and distract his dad. Or…

"He's more than just a friend," he said, bolder than he expected, the little colour that there was left draining his face as the gravity of what he'd just said sunk in.

Mr Barrow sank down into a chair, his own face turning a brilliant beetroot red. "Oh." He nodded once, stiffly. "I see."

Thomas watched the clock on the wall, timing his breathing with the second hand while his father processed this information.

"Is this," Mr Barrow waved a hand vaguely, clearing his throat. "Is this, um, an 'instead of' thing, or 'as well as'?"

"What?" Thomas spluttered, baffled.

"I mean, you know, lads, girls… is it, is it one or both?"

"Oh. Um… lads. Just, just lads."

"Hmm. I see."

For what felt like hours, Thomas stared at the wall, waiting for his father to say something. What was he thinking? Bringing this up, now of all times?

"I'm definitely surprised, but – but, well, I can, um, it does make sense."

Thomas felt his breath rush out of him. "Well, um, that's, er, good. Is it? Dad?"

Mr Barrow, however, still seemed to be processing information. "So, what about Mary?"

"Oh, Mary." This time it was Thomas' turn to blush a furious pink. "We – well, we, er, we were never actually, um, you know. We, er…" Trailing off into a mumble, "…we pretended." He jumped as his father leapt up, his chair clattering to the floor.

"What do you mean, you pretended – she knew? So you two have been lying to me for _two years_?"

Nodding and looking ashamed, Thomas frantically wiped any evidence of tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dad, I really am, I was just – I was scared, I was terrified, and I'm still scared but I just, I didn't want to lie anymore and I'm fed up of hiding."

He looked down, his breath caught in his throat as his father began to pace the room.

"I'm not angry," Mr Barrow said eventually, despite the vein popping in his forehead. "I'm not angry with you, Thomas, not at all. I'm angry with me, and I'm angry with the world and with all the people who've ever hurt you, but I could _never_ be angry with you. Not for this."

Seeing that his words were doing little to comfort his son, he sat down again, composing himself.

"Thomas," he said softly, "You're my son, and I love you. I know we don't really talk about feelings much, but… there it is. I love you. And this will be, it will be different, for me, but that's my problem. Not yours." He took a deep breath, gingerly putting his hand over Thomas'. "So I'll have a son-in-law instead of a daughter-in-law. I'll still be your dad. And that's more important than anything else. Got it?"

Still crestfallen, Thomas nodded.

"And hey," Mr Barrow lifted Thomas' chin up, "If any more folks give you grief over this, or if any lad dares to hurt you – you send them my way. Got it?"

Thomas only smiled. "Got it, Dad."


	17. Chapter 17

**Warning in this chapter for a panic attack.**

 **Wow, thanks for all the great responses on the last couple of chapters!**

 **This chapter absolutely did not want to be written, so I hope you still enjoy it...**

 **Chapter 17**

 _In which Thomas goes home and Matthew talks to Mary._

Mr Carson jumped up from where he'd fallen asleep in his chair as the door swung shut.

"Yes, well, I'm sure that will be fine," he said in panic, before realising that it was only Mrs Hughes.

"You should probably get some more sleep, nodding off on the job like that," she said, laughing lightly at him. "Come on, go home and get some sleep. I'll start a few minutes early; I don't mind."

He stood up, huffing as he did so. "That's very generous of you, Mrs Hughes, although I really would have been perfectly fine finishing the shift."

"Whatever you say," she said, knowingly. "Did you know that Thomas Barrow is hopefully coming home today?"

"Yes, I did," said Mr Carson, pulling on his coat. "Mary Grantham was full of it yesterday, telling everyone to watch out for him. Did you make sure he received that card that we wrote for him?"

"Of course I did!" Putting the kettle on, Mrs Hughes settled into her chair. "Now, you go on home! I'll be fine here."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I will! Now, shoo!"

He smiled to himself as she turned back to their shared desk in the lodge, before quietly shutting the door behind him.

* * *

As soon as he stepped through the doorway into his own room, Thomas felt himself relax. Even the odd colour of the walls and the university's mandatory fire escape plans stuck to the wall couldn't take away from the fact that it was a thousand times more homely than a hospital room. There was his own bed, with his blankets and the bear he pretended he didn't still have, and there were his own books, and hanging up in the wardrobe were his own clothes, infinitely more comfortable than a hospital gown. Even the ache in his ribs and the throbbing in his head couldn't make him any less grateful to be where he was.

"So, you're all set?" Mr Barrow asked. "You've got your medicine, and your check-up appointment tomorrow, and…" He checked under the covers for the teddy bear, and glancing at a blushing Thomas and a bemused Edward left it where it was. "Now, are you sure you don't need me to stay?"

"Really, Dad, I'm fine," said Thomas. "You need to get back to the shop, and Mary and Edward and Tom and – and Jimmy have all said that they'd help."

"Fine! Your old man can take a hint." Mr Barrow pulled Thomas into a hug, holding him close and minding his injured ribs. "Remember… remember that I love you. Okay? And I always will."

It took a further ten minutes to persuade Mr Barrow to leave, both Thomas and Edward reassuring him that everything was going to be okay and he was going to miss his train if he didn't need right now. After one last hug for Thomas and a warning for Edward he finally left.

"Alone at last," Thomas breathed out as he shut the door behind his father, clearing his throat as he realised what he'd said.

Blushing, Edward tentatively took Thomas' hand. There was a notable shift in the dynamic between them now; being in a silent bedroom was a world away from an emotionally charged hospital room.

"Do you – do you want to - "

Before Edward could finish the sentence, Thomas leant forwards quickly, pecking him on the lips.

Eyes wide, Edward stammered out, "Well… that works, as well!"

Slowly, as if one wrong move might break the air between them, Thomas brought his hands to rest on Edward's waist. "So… so this is okay, then?"

"More than okay," Edward said, putting his hands on Thomas' upper arms and reaching up to kiss him lightly. "If this is what you want?"

Confused, Thomas pulled back. "Of course it is; why wouldn't it be?"

Edward sighed, walking away to sit on the edge of Thomas' bed. "I just got the impression that… maybe… I wasn't the sort of person you wanted to go out with."

"Why the hell would you think that?" Thomas crossed the room in a few swift strides, sitting next to Edward and facing him. "You're a great guy, Edward, really, and I… I _want_ to go out with you, I really do, and I think we would be great together."

Edward was silent for a few seconds, thinking, before he said, "Okay. I just wanted to make sure."

"Are… are _you_ sure?"

Nodding, Edward took Thomas' hand. "Yeah. I've… I've fancied you for ages, Thomas, you know that. I just wanted to make sure; I don't… I don't want to set myself up for heartbreak."

Thomas gently brushed Edward's hair out of his eyes. "I have no intention of breaking your heart. Unless you have plans to break mine?"

"Not if your dad has anything to do with it," smiled Edward, consoled. "You know he gave me the whole 'Don't hurt my son, or else,' speech?"

"Bloody hell! I'm so sorry," Thomas groaned as Edward laughed. "I hope he didn't say anything too bad?"

"Just the usual," Edward shrugged. "Thinly veiled threats, asking me my intentions, that sort of thing. At least it means he took the news well."

Although Thomas tried to brush it off, it was obvious that it meant a lot to him. "That's something, I suppose." He cleared his throat. "So… we're doing this, then?"

"If by 'this' you mean dating, then yes. We're doing 'this'."

Thomas smiled, putting a hand on Edward's cheek as he leant in for another kiss, but a sudden knock at the door made him jump back.

"Thomas?" A voice called through the door. "Thomas, are you in there?"

"Jimmy," Thomas said under his breath, jumping up from where he was sat next to Edward to go and answer the door.

"Thomas, thank goodness you're here!" Jimmy panted as soon as the door was open. "I went to see you at the hospital but they said you'd been discharged, I guessed you'd be here, so… well, here you are! With…" He went up onto his tiptoes to look over Thomas' shoulder. "With Edward."

"Hi," said Edward, waving awkwardly.

Jimmy rocked back onto his heels, looking suddenly deflated. "Oh. I just… figured you'd call me. You know, when they discharged you."

"I haven't been back long," Thomas shrugged. "I was going to call you soon."

"Sure." Kicking his feet against the stone floor, Jimmy turned around and wandered back out towards the quad. "I'm glad you're out of hospital, anyway. I'll see you around, okay?"

By the time Thomas had processed Jimmy's words he was gone.

"Hey, you – you okay?" Edward asked from where he was still sat on Thomas' bed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," said Thomas, sounding very vague and distracted. He shut his door again and slowly sauntered back over to Edward. "Now… where were we?"

* * *

"Mary? Mary, come on, answer the phone…"

Matthew paced back and forwards in the corridor of the hospital in two-day-old clothes, his hair unwashed and in disarray, clutching his phone to his ear in a trembling hand. Nurses wandered past, clipboards in hands, ignoring him as they went about their jobs. If he'd been thinking straight he wouldn't blame them; they all had more important things to do than comfort a crying stranger. Hospitals were full of people like him; people that nurses couldn't help.

"Please, Mary, answer your phone!"

He furiously rubbed away his tears, collapsing onto one of a row of plastic chairs.

"Hello? Matthew?"

"Oh, thank God," he gasped down the phone.

"Matthew, I'm so sorry, I was in a lecture and my phone was off, I'm so sorry - "

"That's okay," he sniffed.

"Matthew?" He heard a door shut and the background noise vanished; she'd gone somewhere private. "Matthew, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Mary, Mary I – I can't, I - " He tried desperately to suck in air but he couldn't, his lungs were being twisted and contorted until there was no space anymore and he was drowning but all he wanted was for the water to smother him and take him away. There were hands gripping his throat, his brain constantly short-circuiting to _make it stop make it stop make it stop._

"Take deep breaths, Matthew, come on, take deep breaths."

He tried but he couldn't. There was no air left in the room, no air left in the world and all he could feel were the thick tears rolling down his face.

"Excuse me? Excuse me, sir, are you alright?"

A nurse.

"I'm going to need you to take some big breaths for me, okay? Nice and slowly, that's it, with me, in… and out… that's it, slowly, slowly, in… and out…"

He took in a few deep, shuddering breaths, unaware of the nurse taking his phone out of his hand and speaking briefly with Mary before putting it on the seat next to him, the call still connected.

A cup of watery tea in a polystyrene cup was pressed into his hands. "Here you go," said the nurse. "That's it, keep breathing, you're doing really well. Is it alright if I ask a few questions?"

He nodded, clutching the tea, still shaking.

"Okay, are you here visiting someone?"

He nodded again. "My – my mother. C-Crawley." It was all he could manage to get out.

"Okay." From her frown, it was obvious that she knew who he was talking about, and quite how ill she was.

"She's sleeping," he added, sipping his tea. "I just – I just needed some air. I shouldn't have left her, though, I should get back, I - "

"In a minute," the nurse said soothingly. "We'll just get you sorted. Would you like a healthcare assistant to sit with you for a bit, until you've calmed down?"

Shaking his head, he said, "No, I'll be alright, thank you," willing his knee to stop bobbing up and down uncontrollably. The nurse looked at him disbelievingly, giving him a look that he knew meant that they were going to check up on him no matter what.

"Is that your girlfriend on the phone?" She pointed to Matthew's phone, still on the seat next to him.

"No, she's my friend, but I love her. I need her here, I need her help because I can't do this without her, I can't!" Matthew wiped the fresh tears from his cheeks, staring abysmally into the lukewarm tea.

"Do you want to talk to her now, or later?" the nurse said softly, handing him the phone.

"Now," he breathed, taking the phone from her and slowly lifting it to his ear. "Mary?"

"I'm still here, Matthew," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "Are you alright?"

He shook his head. "No," he choked out in a sob. "She's so ill, Mary, and she's not going to make it and I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I'll be there," said Mary, filled with determination. "I promise, Matthew, I'll be there as soon as I can – by dinner time. I'll be there by dinner time."

"Thank you. Thank you, Mary." The nurse had gone but the assistant at the nurses' station was watching him with one eye, clearly checking up on him. "I love you." And he hung up.

"I love you too," Mary whispered, over a hundred miles away, frantically rubbing the tears out of her eyes, not caring about red cheeks or smudged mascara. Her phone clutched tightly in her hand, she dashed out of the ladies' bathroom in the English department, tugging on her coat and running back to Downton College. She sprinted up the stairs to her room, grabbing the nearest bag she could and throwing her toothbrush, a spare shirt and some pyjamas into it before running back out. She could call Thomas later, she decided; there was no time to find him now, he would just demand explanations and probably try to talk her out of it.

Running back through the quad and out of the front doors, she ignored Mrs Hughes shouting after her, only stopping when she reached her car which was parked down the street. There were people crossing the road but she just honked her horn until they ran out of the way, careering down the winding streets until she was out of the city and on the motorway.

She would get to Matthew; she had to, there was no other choice. He needed her, more than he'd ever needed anyone, and she would be there if it was the last thing that she did. It never even occurred to her that, perhaps, this was not the sort of thing that Mary Grantham did. There was only one thing that mattered and that was Matthew. And she was damned if she was going to let anyone or anything change that.

 **Thanks for reading! Please leave a review :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**You all asked me not to do this, but I did it anyway... sorry :'(**

 **Chapter 18**

 _In which there is a funeral._

Mary found it very odd, attending the funeral of someone she'd never met. She grieved, of course she did, for and with Matthew, but not for herself because she didn't know how. Matthew had asked her to help at the funeral and, of course, she'd agreed, but she soon left him to stand at the back of the church greeting people and accepting their condolences while she showed people to their seats or handed out service booklets. It was easier than standing with him, talking about a woman she never knew.

She had just finished absent-mindedly adjusting a rose on a flower display, not sure what else to do, when she heard her name being called.

"Mary? Mary, dear, is that you?"

She turned to see a very confused Matthew standing by her grandmother, who was waving her stick towards Mary as she called her over.

"Granny!" Mary exclaimed as she went over, plastering a look of mild surprise on her face. She shot an apologetic look at Matthew as she lead Violet Grantham to a seat, offering an arm both to help support her and to allow for a more private conversation. "Granny, what are you doing here?" She whispered.

"Didn't you know?" Violet asked haughtily. "Mrs Crawley and I have known each other for decades, I'm shocked that you don't know that."

"Had I known you were friends - "

"Ha!" her grandmother scoffed. "Friends! We're British, my dear, no need to get so emotional, even at a funeral. No, I would never let a friend know me nearly as well as Isobel did, lest they find themselves no longer liking me."

"And God forbid that ever happen," Mary muttered as the organist stopped playing and the vicar indicated for everyone to take their seats. "I'm going to sit with Matthew now; I'll speak to you afterwards."

"So am I to understand that you and Matthew Crawley are - "

"Later, Granny!"

Mary had not been to a huge number of funerals, but as far as her understanding went this one was not unlike any other. They sang hymns that she vaguely recognised, the priest said some prayers and gave a talk that sounded suspiciously generic. There seemed to be general murmurings of approval around the church; she heard someone behind her say "Oh, this was her favourite," when they began the first hymn, and someone else say "She _did_ love daffodils," while admiring the flower arrangements. It was very strange, building up a picture of a person in this way, but as every minute passed she felt like she knew a tiny bit more of who Isobel Crawley was, and became more and more saddened that she never got to meet her.

Matthew didn't say anything to her as he stood up to give his eulogy, only squeezing her hand for support as he took slow, heavy steps to the front of the church.

"Thank you all," he croaked out, staring down at the crisp paper in front of him. He cleared his throat, saying again, louder, "Thank you all for coming today. Everyone here has in some way been influenced by my mother, and I think that it is a testament to her, the number of people that have come together to celebrate her – her life."

He swallowed, glancing at Mary who gave an imperceptible nod of encouragement.

"My mother – my mother was the most determined person I've ever met." There were a few agreeing chuckles from the people in the congregation, Mary's grandmother included. "She never did anything half-heartedly. Everything she did was with her whole and full heart and passion behind it. Her work as a nurse, then as a doctor, and following her retirement as a volunteer in some of the most deprived areas of our city. The way she worked, the way she tried and the way she loved were – were with her entire being. I don't think any of us here have met anyone else quite like her.

"I remember when my father passed away. I was very young, and not entirely sure what was going on, but she made sure that I never felt like I had anything less than two parents. She was there for me, as she was for so many of you, whenever we needed her. If everyone on this earth had a fraction of her heart, I know that the world would be a much, much happier place. I once asked her how she managed it, how she fit so much into every hour of the day, and her response was, 'I simply must be useful'. I think that that is a sentiment we could all use and learn from."

He paused, wiping away the tears that were rapidly pooling in his eyes. "The best comfort we have right now is to know that a piece of her lives on in everyone in this room, and in every patient she ever treated, and in every life she reached out to. No one was untouched – or, should I say, unscathed – by her generosity and kindness and determination. She – she deserved more than us. She deserved better than us. And yet she still loved and cared for everyone who crossed her path, and it – it is a privilege to call myself Isobel Crawley's son."

There was not a dry eye in the room, the silence punctuated by the gentle blowing of noses. Matthew slowly trudged down from where he was standing behind the lectern, accepting the handkerchief that Mary handed to him as he sat down. As much as she wanted to comfort him, to be there for him, she knew that in this moment he needed to be alone, not in someone else's arms or crying on someone else's shoulder.

The rest of the service passed in a blur for Mary. There was another hymn, and the vicar said some more prayers, and before she knew it she was promising to open up the church hall while Matthew and a few others went for the burial.

"Really, my dear, I thought you'd be with Matthew for the burial," her grandmother said as she straightened a plate of canapes.

"It's only for family and close friends," said Mary reproachfully, turning her attention to the cocktail sausages. "I'm sure you'd be up there if it weren't for your stick and the mud, but it's not for me."

Sighing in exasperation, Violet patted the seat next to her. "Come, Mary, sit down. Let's talk about this."

Knowing better than to argue with her grandmother, Mary sat.

"Now, tell me all about it. I want to hear _every_ detail, even those you may think too unsavoury for my ears."

"Fine!" Mary rolled her eyes. "Well, we met at the beginning of the year, and – well, you know, I was with Thomas then."

"Yes, the gay one."

"Granny!"

"What?" said Violet incredulously. "I may be old but I'm not stupid."

Huffing, Mary continued. "At first I didn't like him but the more I got to know him… the more I realised that I didn't just _like_ him, I…"

"You loved him?"

"Really, Granny, there's no need to be so dramatic!"

"But I'm not wrong, am I?"

There was a long silence.

"Granny, I – we're friends. Good friends, but just… friends. And I thought that maybe it was going to become something more but then his mother was taken ill."

"And you just dropped everything to be with him?" It was difficult to escape her grandmother's piercing gaze.

"The university said that while they couldn't recommend it, as long as my assignments were all handed in to an acceptable standard I could stay away until the funeral; I'm driving back tonight. It hasn't been too bad; most of the library books are online now, and my tutor has been very good about emailing me everything. I'd already finished the first draft of my dissertation, so I'm currently running ahead of schedule."

"Now, my dear," Violet said, putting her hand on Mary's knee, "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Mary held her gaze for a few seconds before relenting, knowing that there was no way she could even try to hold out against her grandmother. "He rang me," she said in a small voice. "The day his mother died. He was crying, and he was having a panic attack – I could hear the nurse helping him through it. He said – he said he wanted me here, he needed me here, and that he loved me. He – he wasn't talking to me at that point, he was talking to the nurse, but the call was connected," she explained, seeing the confusion on her grandmother's face. "But then he _was_ talking to me, asking me to come up, and I agreed and he said that he loved me, and I – I said it back," she finished in a small voice.

"So what happened then?" Violet asked, entranced by the tale.

"I drove up," Mary said slowly, as if telling the story to herself as much as to anyone else. "I got here, and I – I was too late. His mother had already passed away by the time I got there. And I think that might have been better, really, I think he would have resented having me around as she – as she – anyway. I know it's," she sniffed, reaching for her handkerchief and remembering that she'd given it to Matthew, "I know it's selfish, but – well – he doesn't remember. He can't remember what he said to me over the phone, or what he said to that nurse, just that he wanted me to come and be with him. And I wish he remembered because then I could tell him, but I can't, not with everything that's going on. Does that make me an awful person?"

"Oh, my dear," said Violet, taking both of Mary's hands in hers. "My dear, we can't help what we wish for. Not the things that our souls ache for. We can't choose our deepest desires. What's important is that you knew it wasn't right, not now, and so you didn't do it. That's what matters."

"Do you really think so, Granny?"

"I know so," she said. "You and I are very alike, Mary, and I know you. This boy is special, even I can see that, and he's right for _you_. There aren't many men you could say that about. Now, you know me; you know that I would usually be telling you to get straight in there; he's emotionally vulnerable and has just come into a not unreasonable inheritance, so now is the time to act! But you need to take your time. Wait for him to be ready, and he will be, that I can promise you. This is the twenty-first century, Mary; you can afford to take your time."

Mary nodded, wiping away a stray tear.

"There's no need to cry," her grandmother said, not unkindly. "My, you must like him if he's got you so emotional! Here," she passed Mary a handkerchief to replace the one she'd given to Matthew. "Tomorrow, you'll be back in Oxford and all of this will seem a world away. You'll see."

She gently patted Mary's arm in both comfort and encouragement. "Now, there's no need for us to sit around getting emotional; these is a funeral! There are better things to do."

Smiling at her grandmother, Mary stood up, composed herself and went to mingle.

"Mary!"

Mary turned from where she was nodding and smiling at a stranger's conversation when she heard her name being called. It was Jimmy.

"Hello, Jimmy!" she said, happy to see a familiar face. "How – how are you doing?"

"Alright, I suppose," Jimmy shrugged. "Sorry I haven't been around over the last week or so – I couldn't get the time off work, and I figured that you were here so Matthew wasn't alone." He trailed off awkwardly, looking uncomfortable in what Mary suspected was someone else's suit.

"Don't worry about it – I understand, and I know Matthew does too."

"Good." Jimmy rocked from one foot to the other uncertainly. "Is he – is he doing okay?"

Mary sighed. "All things considered. He needs us, though. Both of us."

"Yes," agreed Jimmy. "Yes, he does." He glanced away from Mary, focussing on the wall of the church hall as he spoke. "You know – it was Mrs Crawley who started teaching me the piano. I - " he broke off, rubbing his nose in an attempt to hide his sniffs. "I wish I'd done more with it, you know? She was so kind and generous, and what have I done? I work in a bloody Starbucks. The best good deed I do each day, my biggest achievement is using my employee discount to get the homeless guy across the street a cup of tea and a sandwich."

Mary couldn't think of anything to say.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy said after a few long, grief-filled minutes. "I didn't mean to…"

"Get so emotional?" Mary finished for him. She smiled sadly. "It's okay. We are at a funeral."

"Yeah." Jimmy looked at her soberly, and it occurred to her that there was much more than just grief going on in his head.

"I'm driving back first thing tomorrow morning," said Mary in an effort to change the mood. Do you want a lift?"

"It's fine," Jimmy shrugged. "I'm getting the train back tonight, I've got the morning shift first thing tomorrow, and I should probably return this suit." He grimaced. "Thanks, though."

Something about what he'd said and the way he said it didn't quite sit right with Mary. "Not a fan of the suit?"

"What? Oh, no!" Jimmy said quickly. "It's, er, it's a great suit. Probably very expensive." She looked at him expectantly. "It's Edward's," he explained, only hiding his scowl semi-successfully. "I mentioned to Thomas that I didn't have a suit, and he said that Edward was about my size, and the next thing I know I'm borrowing a suit from Thomas' _boyfriend_." He spat out the last word as if he couldn't believe that it was true.

Mary raised an eyebrow, hackles raised. "You have an issue with that?"

Jimmy let out a loud, humourless laugh that drew the attention of the people standing around them. "Ha! I have a _lot_ of issues with Edward, but none of them are to do with the fact that he's a boy."

"Good," said Mary, satisfied. "Care to elaborate on those issues?"

Jimmy glared at her for a moment, as if she should know better than to question his dislike of someone.

"Have it your way," Mary said, with the unmistakeable air of someone who knows that they've won. "I have to say, I'm surprised that he told you."

"He didn't need to. It wasn't hard to guess. I'd had my suspicions for a while – something just didn't seem right about you two, and the way you broke up, so it wasn't really a surprise."

They both looked up as the door opened and a miserable Matthew, wet and damp from the graveyard, came in.

"You should - " Jimmy started, but Mary stopped him.

"No, you go," she said, smiling as if it were the hardest thing she'd ever done. "You're his best friend, Jimmy, you know him best, and you knew his mother. Besides, he's probably fed up of me."

"You know that's not true," Jimmy said quietly, but he left all the same, winding through the groups of people around the church hall until he found Matthew. Mary watched as Jimmy pulled Matthew into a tight hug, Matthew's head falling onto his shoulder as his whole body shook with sobs. She could feel her grandmother staring into the back of her head, but she ignored her. She loved Matthew, so much that it felt like her heart was burning in her body, but the person he needed right now wasn't her. And that was okay.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 _In which Thomas and Edward spend the night, and Jimmy receives some exciting news._

"Don't you English students _do_ anything?" Thomas asked incredulously from where he was sat on Mary's bed, typing away at his laptop while Mary flicked through the latest copy of Vogue.

"What can I say; I have very good time management," she said, idly turning the page.

"Easy if there's not much to manage," Thomas grumbled under his breath. Mary snorted at his comment, but didn't say anything.

Mary glanced sideways at him. "Or maybe you've just had less free time now that you've got a boyfriend."

Thomas turned a beetroot red, but wasn't about to let her win. "Or _maybe_ you just have too much time on your hands now that your only friend has a boyfriend."

"Touché," said Mary, raising an eyebrow and turning back to her magazine. "Speaking of said boyfriend, why are you suddenly free today? I assumed you'd be with him. Like you usually are on Friday afternoons."

"Actually," Thomas said, clearing his throat and, if possible, blushing even harder, "We're, er, seeing each other tonight, instead."

Mary spun around in her chair so fast that she was almost a blur, her eyes comically wide. "You – you mean - "

Shrugging awkwardly, Thomas said, "Well… we'll see how it goes. But, you know, we've been together for six weeks now, and we're both adults, so…" He trailed off, refusing to meet Mary's gaze and staring at his computer screen as if he was trying to burn a hole through it.

"But Thomas, this is huge!" Mary practically flew from her chair to sit opposite Thomas on her bed, taking Thomas' laptop out of his hands and putting it on the floor. "Don't give me that look, whatever it is can wait. But I _know_ you, and I know that this is a big deal for you. Do you – do you think - "

"I don't know! I really like him, Mary, I do, and it feels right. I'm fed up of a relationship that lives in coffee shops and parks because I get too nervous when we're alone together. Besides, I can't be the only one that's getting… frustrated…"

"Ah," Mary said smugly. "Fancy giving your right hand a change of scenery, then?"

"Mary!" exclaimed Thomas, scandalised. "For a young lady of your standing!"

"Oh, please," Mary scoffed. "Now, you absolutely have to swear to tell me _everything_. Got it?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Fat chance of that happening. There is a line, Mary, and you have crossed it far too many times. Now, can we please move on?"

"Move onto what?" said Mary with childlike excitement. "Nothing could be more exciting than this."

"Really? So, no news with you and Matthew, then?"

Mary shot him a reproachful look. "Thomas, his mother's funeral was only a month ago. There really is nothing to tell."

"So you're not going for lunch with him tomorrow, then?"

"What?" said Mary, panic flitting across her face.

Thomas pointed to the wall beside him. "It's on your calendar."

"Fine," said Mary haughtily. "Yes, we're going for lunch tomorrow. He's coming back to Oxford, and I thought it would be nice to treat him, hopefully take his mind off things. I'm just taking a friend out to lunch, nothing else."

Thomas wordlessly brought his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay! Blimey, haven't you got your knickers in a twist? Now, can I have my laptop back? I need to finish my essay."

"On one condition," Mary teased. "You promise that you'll tell me _everything_."

Sighing heavily, Thomas snatched his laptop back. "Yes, fine. I promise I'll tell you _everything_."

* * *

It took Thomas a few seconds when he woke the next morning, the light lazily streaming in through the curtains, to work out why he was feeling quite so warm and weighed down. It was only when he shifted his weight slightly that he realised that the heavy weight on his torso was Edward's arm, the heat Edward's skin against his. He turned his head slightly, so close to Edward that their noses were brushing against each other. He took a few moments to just enjoy the stillness, the gentle rise and fall of Edward's chest under his arm. He couldn't help it; he lifted up a hand to flatten Edward's curls where they were sticking out from sleep and – he remembered with a small blush and an inner smile – the previous night's activities.

"Mm," Edward hummed under his ministrations, tucking himself further into Thomas' arms as he slowly woke up. "Mm, keep doing that. 's nice." He hummed contentedly once more. "I would happily wake up like this every morning."

For a single second Thomas' hand froze, and Edward shot upright, eyes wide. "No, wait! I didn't mean – I did mean - "

"It's okay," Thomas said, trying to hide his amusement and taking Edward's hand. "I know what you meant."

Edward let out a deep breath, laughing. "Well, now I'm awake! Wait a moment, I can't really see you." He fumbled behind him on Thomas' bedside table until he found his glasses, putting them on and lying down once again, draping his arm back over Thomas. "How are you this morning?"

"I've never been better," Thomas smiled, kissing him lazily. Edward moaned in appreciation, reminding Thomas a bit too vividly of similar moans he'd been making the previous night. "So… last night was good? For you?"

"Are you kidding?" said Edward incredulously. "It was spectacular. I am one lucky man!"

Absentmindedly tracing circles on Edward's chest, Thomas said, "Good. I also had a bloody brilliant time!" They both laughed at that. "I, um…" Thomas trailed off, looking slightly awkward. "I'm sorry that we didn't do… _everything_. I wanted to, I really did, it just…"

"Hey, hey," said Edward soothingly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Thomas' hand. "It's fine, really! It's – it's a big thing, some people _never_ do it, and if you're not ready than that's more than fine. I'd prefer if we waited until you really wanted to do it and you really felt comfortable. Besides," He smiled mischievously, "We were a long way from doing nothing, and if you ask me it was pretty damn good."

"Good," said Thomas, looking more at ease. "You know… It's a Saturday. Neither of us have to be anywhere any time soon. What do you say?" He tried to move out from under the duvet but got stuck, eventually untangling himself while Edward laughed, killing any romantic or sensual mood he'd been trying to build. When he finally threw the quilt to the floor with quite some force, swearing at it all the while, he rested himself on Edward's thighs, rubbing at his hips. "Looks like you're, er, _up_ for more," he said, smiling shrewdly.

"Come here you idiot," Edward breathed, before sitting up and crashing his lips against Thomas', reaching between them, when –

There was a knock at the door.

"Bloody hell," Thomas muttered into Edward's shoulder. "Who is it?" He called, the annoyance clear on his face. "This had better be important," he whispered to Edward, who was planting slow kisses on Thomas' neck.

"It's Jimmy," came a voice from the other side of the door.

"Of course it is," Edward sighed, as Thomas leapt up, frantically searching for some clothes. "You could just not answer it, tell him to come back later."

Thomas ignored him, throwing him a pair of pyjamas. "Quick, put these on."

They both got dressed, a process slowed by Thomas' frantic fumbling and Edward's deliberately slow speed.

"They might be a while." Another voice floated through: a distinctly Irish one. "Edward's in there with him, they were at it all night."

"Tom!" Thomas shouted, trying to put his shirt on back to front.

"These walls are thin, Thomas!" Tom called through the door. "And I don't appreciate you two moaning and slamming up against the wall when _my head is trying to sleep on the other side of it!_ "

"Which leprechaun stole his magic gold?" Edward grumbled, tugging on the pyjama shirt just as Thomas opened the door.

"Tom, if you would kindly bugger off," said Thomas dryly.

There was a beat of silence before Tom trudged back to his room angrily, muttering, "I thought that's what _you_ were doing, but okay."

When Tom's door had slammed shut behind him, Thomas turned to Jimmy. "Morning, Jimmy. How are you?"

Jimmy, however, was a brilliant shade of purple, an envelope clutched in his hand. "Is… is Edward in there?"

"Yes!"

Thomas turned just as Edward came up to join him in the doorway, having taken the pyjama shirt back off, resting one hand around Thomas' waist. "Morning, Jimmy. What brings you here at this ungodly hour?"

"It's half ten, it's not _that_ early," Jimmy deadpanned, thrusting the envelope in Thomas' face. "What the hell is this?"

Confused, Thomas opened up the envelope, taking out the paper inside.

 _Dear Mr Kent,_

 _Thank you for your application to the Royal College of Music to study Piano Performance. We are pleased to be able to offer you an audition at 4:30pm on Friday 10_ _th_ _April, in the Benjamin Britten room in the College. Please arrive at least twenty minutes before your scheduled audition time, and please prepare two contrasting pieces to play for us. There will also be a short interview which will be conducted after the performance part of your audition, including some aural tests. We look forward to seeing you at your audition._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Jack Ross_

 _Head of Undergraduate Studies_

"That's brilliant, congratulations Jimmy!" said Edward, smiling at Jimmy for the first time in the weeks that they'd known each other. "Moving to London, wow! And look, the audition's on my birthday – it must be some sort of good luck charm!"

"Yeah," Thomas said in a hollow voice. "Yeah, this… this is brilliant, Jimmy, really, I mean, an audition at the Royal College, they're supposed to be amazing, right?"

"Enough with the crap, Thomas," Jimmy said angrily, snatching the letter back. "I didn't apply, so I don't know why I've got an audition. Unless _someone_ applied for me? Matthew wouldn't think to do something like this, and the only other person who knows enough about me to fill out a college application, as miserable as it is, is you."

"Fine," Thomas said forcefully, holding his hands up in surrender. "It was stupid, and wrong, and I shouldn't have done it, but I'm not sorry. You're really good, Jimmy, and I mean _really_ good, but I knew that you were never going to apply by yourself, and I knew that none of us could ever talk you into it. I know it's stupid, but I thought…" He sighed. "I thought that maybe if you got this far, if they were impressed enough by the application to invite you to audition, you might realise how good you are. You don't have to go, if you don't want to. But if you never go, you'll never find out." Shrugging, he said, "You know what my dad says? 'Shy bairns get nowt'. And it's true."

There was a long silence as Jimmy contemplated Thomas' words, Edward glancing between them.

"My mum says that too," Jimmy said in a small voice, the beginnings of a smile flickering on his face.

Edward rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Great, so it's some kind of shared Northern thing, just what we all need." Thomas and Jimmy ignored him.

"But that doesn't make it okay," Jimmy pressed on, his voice strained. "I… I understand, I do, and I think I'm grateful because I've got an audition at the bloody Royal College, but…" He looked straight at Thomas, his eyes defiant. "Don't ever do that again, Thomas Barrow. You hear me?"

Thomas nodded solemnly. "I won't, I promise."

"Good." Jimmy gestured vaguely between Thomas and Edward. "I'll let you too get back to annoying Tom. At least he's entertaining when he's angry."

Waving goodbye, he strode back down the corridor, and out into the quad. Thomas watched him as he went, only tearing his eyes away when Edward stepped in front of him and kissed him.

"Come on," Edward whispered, slipping his hands underneath Thomas' shirt. "Shall we go back to our lazy morning in?"

Thomas grinned, wrapping his arms firmly around Edward as they stepped back into his room, slamming the door shut with his foot.

"Why did you - " Edward panted as Thomas manoeuvred them back onto the bed. "Why did you do that for Jimmy?"

"He's my friend," Thomas shrugged. "He deserves it, he really does." He saw the look Edward was giving him. "That's all, I promise; he's my completely heterosexual friend. I'm with _you._ "

Edward leant forwards, kissing him fiercely for a few seconds. "And I'm so glad you are," he said as they pulled apart. "Now… what do you say we give Tom something more to complain about?"


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

 _In which Matthew and Mary go out for lunch together._

It took Mary far longer than it should have to walk to the café where she was meeting Matthew. As desperate as she was to see him again, something was holding her back. She hadn't seen him in a month, and a part of her couldn't help but worry that he wouldn't want to see her anymore, or that something would have fundamentally changed between them.

After stopping in front of one too many shop windows to check her hair, she had no choice but to tentatively push open the door of the café, eyes searching around until she spotted Matthew, sat awkwardly by himself. He glanced up as the door shut, smiling at Mary and waving her over. Weaving through the small tables packed closely together, she slipped off her coat and sat opposite him.

"Hello," she said breathlessly, trying desperately to keep her heartbeat under control.

Matthew smiled back at her nervously, his eyebrows furrowed as if he'd forgotten how to relax. "Hello, Mary."

"How – how have you been?" She stammered out, fiddling with the corners of her menu. Her face fell into panic as her words registered with her brain. "I mean – that's a stupid question, I shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry."

"No, no – it's fine," Matthew said quickly, reaching forwards as if to take her hands but stopping halfway, pretending to rearrange the sugar bowl instead. "I've – I've been okay. All things considered, you know."

In many ways Matthew was the same person she remembered, but there were just enough things that were different for it to be unsettling. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes which seemed to be permanently sad, and much older than they had been a month ago. His clothes couldn't quite hide that he'd lost a lot of weight, and he didn't look like he'd had a haircut in a while. Anyone who was meeting him for the first time might think nothing of it. For Mary, though, the suffering that he'd been through since she'd last seen him was as plain as the nose on his face.

"How about you? How – how have you been?"

She shrugged. "Okay, I suppose. Final exams are coming up, so the work's piling up, but I can't really complain."

"I don't miss dissertations," Matthew laughed weakly. "What did – what did you parents think? About you taking off for a week."

"They were annoyed, of course," she sighed, "But all my marks from the work I did while I was away were fairly high – not as high as my usual, but good enough for them, so they couldn't really complain. Then there was the whole, 'we're paying your tuition fees, the least you can do is go to your lectures,' but let's face it, they don't notice it going out of the bank. And, as I pointed out to them, no one's ever financially independent in families like ours; it's simply a case of living of Papa's money until he kicks the bucket, and then I get it."

"Wow," Matthew said dryly. "Must be _really_ hard, having parents who want you to do well at university and are able to click their fingers and make your problems go away. I bet you had a pony, didn't you? And oh, isn't it awful, we only have _three homes_."

"Matthew - "

"Listen to you! All this talk of _families like ours_. You know what? I bet you took your pony _fox-hunting_ , and I bet it was okay because Daddy's best friends with the Prime Minister or Prince Charles so we can do _whatever we want_!"

"Stop it," Mary hissed, aware that heads were beginning to turn thanks to Matthew's loud rant. "Look," she said as calmly as she could, trying to diffuse the situation. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that my problems seem like nothing to you, and maybe I should be more sympathetic. But don't take your anger or frustration at the rest of the world out on me, okay? You asked me a question, I answered it. So sue me for trying to make conversation and distract you."

There was a long silence as Matthew sat back in his chair, looking sheepish. "You're right; of course you are. I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare apologise!" Mary said, realising that she'd pointed her finger in Matthew's face. "At least not before we've both had some lunch and, more importantly. What do you want? I'm paying."

She eventually persuaded Matthew to let her pay, successfully avoiding having to use the 'Daddy's credit card' method of persuasion. As she queued at the counter she pretended to busy herself in admiring the cake collection while she watched Matthew out of the corner of her eye. His head was in his hands, his unkempt hair flopping down over his eyes.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Jerking herself out of her thoughts, she turned to face the expectant waitress. "Yes, of course, sorry."

She rejoined Matthew after she'd given her order, placing the enormous slice of cake she'd ordered between them.

"I thought we might share this before our sandwiches come," she said, raising her eyebrows mischievously and handing him a fork.

"Thank you, Mary," he said, waiting for her to take the first forkful of cake before helping himself. "I really am sorry, you know. I didn't mean those awful things."

"But they're true," Mary said, not annoyed or upset but simply stating fact. "You did mean them; maybe not in the way you said them, but you meant them because they were true. I can't change those things, and I don't particularly want to, but I sometimes forget that not everyone is like us. And I sometimes forget that I'm the same as everybody else."

Matthew took his time answering, using a particularly large mouthful of cake as an excuse. "Is it my job to remind you, then?"

"Oh, Matthew, you don't need to remind me! Just – just you being there, you being _you_ , is enough to remind me that there's more to life than just… _me_."

Giving an embarrassed half-smile, Matthew said, "I can't decide if that's the best or worst thing that anyone's ever said to me."

Mary took his hand, smiling. "Let's settle on best, shall we?"

Their eyes met for a few moments and time was suspended.

"Two teas and two cheese ploughman's?"

They jumped up at the arrival of the waitress, each clearing their throats, Mary busying herself with smoothing her napkin over her lap.

"Have you talked to your tutor yet?" Mary said as she poured the tea, back to her usual composed, polite self.

"Yeah, I had a meeting with her this morning," Matthew said, poking miserably at his sandwich. "She suggested that as it's the last week of term this week, and I was only here for the first three weeks, I just catch up on this term's work over the summer so I can still graduate on time. It won't make for a very fun summer, but I didn't really have any other plans."

"You could always come on holiday with us?" Mary asked tentatively. "I mean – I know you'll be busy catching up on your uni work, but if you could spare two weeks we're going to Greece. It might help to take your mind off things; you never know."

"Thank you, Mary," he said with sincerity. "I'll about it, I promise."

"Good," said Mary, taking a bite of her sandwich. "You know… if you ever need to talk about anything – and I mean, anything – you can always come to me. You know that, don't you?"

"Mary, of course I do! And it means so much to me that you say it. I just…" He sighed heavily. "I just don't want to burden you with my problems; the last thing you need is to be worrying about me."

Mary exclaimed, "But that's the thing! I want to worry about you, Matthew! I want to know what's bothering you, because if there's any possible way I can help then I will, even if it's as simple as – as simple as taking things to the dry-cleaning for you!" He laughed at that. "And if – if I can't help, then I want to be there so we can figure it out together."

"That's the thing, though, Mary. You can't help. No one can help. That's just the way it is, the way it has to be."

"So maybe I can't help," said Mary defiantly. "That doesn't mean I won't be here for you."

It was obvious that Matthew still wasn't convinced, but he didn't argue anymore. "I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you."

Mary quickly changed the subject; it was obvious that Matthew thought that that discussion was over. "So you'll be coming back to Oxford after the Easter holidays, then?"

"Actually, I'm back now. I'll be staying for the rest of the school year, just not officially as a student until May." At Mary's quizzical look, he added, "Well, I'm paying rent all year round. And I - " He broke off, choking up slightly. "I can't be home at the moment. Not now. It's too – it's too hard."

Mary opened her mouth to speak but never had the chance. It was like a dam breaking; everything Matthew hadn't said for the last month came rushing out.

"I can't do it anymore, Mary. Every morning when I wake up, I go to the kitchen and I still make two mugs of tea ready for when she comes to have her breakfast only – only she never comes. And I – I open the kitchen cupboard and there's all these pots and pans and all sorts of things that I don't even know the name of let alone how to use them but they were _hers_. Or I'll, I'll see that cushion on the sofa that I tried to make for her the year my dad died, and it was so awful but she loved it anyway and every time I saw it she would have fixed a little bit more of the stitching because it was falling apart but I didn't mind because that made it ours. I still haven't been in her room but every time I walk past it I can smell her perfume and the way she smelt of home and I just _can't do that anymore_." He was openly crying now, tears streaming thick and fast down his face, his eyes red and cheeks blotchy. Not caring about the people around them pretending not to watch, Mary got up and went around the small table, pulling Matthew into a tight hug. She didn't know what to say; nothing she could say right now would help or even ease the pain. As she held him close she could feel every shake of every sob, his tears dampening her shirt, and she rubbed his back, hating that this was all she could do. Hating that Matthew Crawley should be in such pain.

"Come on; let's go back, hm?" She asked, gently rubbing his back. "Your flat's just down the road, let's go there."

He nodded and stood up, wiping his eyes, leading the way out of the café while Mary left a perhaps too generous tip.

As they walked the short distance to Matthew's flat, he quickly quietened and withdrew into himself, clutching Mary's hand all the way as his face shut down.

"Thank you, Mary," Matthew said curtly as they reached the doorway of his flat. "For everything. I'll hopefully see you again soon."

Mary looked at him incredulously, stepping back a few paces. "So… that's it? You're just going to go back into your flat and sit there, alone, shutting yourself off?"

"No, Mary, Jimmy will be home soon," said Matthew in a small voice. "I just – if I'm being completely honest, I – I embarrassed myself today, in front of you, of all people. All I want right now is to be alone."

"What if that isn't the best thing right now?"

"Mary, please - "

"Because I can't lose you, Matthew, I just can't!"

"Mary!" exclaimed Matthew. "Mary, what are you talking about?"

Mary stared at him, gaping for a few seconds as she tried to get a grasp of the situation.

"Fine," she said, her voice barely audible. "You think being alone is the best thing for you right now? After – after everything you just told me? Then fine. Go ahead. Be alone for another month, and the month after that, and I'm sure you'll be just fine.

"I'm sorry," she said after another moment's silence. "I didn't mean that."

"But it was true."

"Hm," Mary mused. "I think we both said some things today."

Matthew raised his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. "Yes; you could say that." He glanced inside his tiny flat before turning back to Mary. "Would you – would you like a cup of tea before you go?"

Mary simply smiled. "That would be wonderful."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

 _In which Jimmy goes to London and Thomas makes a mistake._

Thomas couldn't wait until the Easter holidays. He was on the final stretch right now; just three more days of lectures, then he could go home and enjoy a few weeks off, sleeping as late as he wanted, watching trashy television with his dad. He'd never been so excited for the holidays before, but now that he and his dad were that little bit closer, it was suddenly all he could look forward to.

He stepped into the busy Starbucks, looking forwards to buying himself a celebratory muffin as a reward for having handed in his final project, texting Edward to finalise their dinner plans for that evening and joining the queue. Wondering vaguely how Jimmy was doing on the train to London, he ordered absentmindedly as he reached the counter.

"I'll have a medium mocha and one of those lemon muffins, please."

"Sure thing, Thomas. How's it going?"

"What?" He looked up, suddenly at attention, a baffled Jimmy looking at him from behind the counter. "You're not supposed to be here, Jimmy!"

"I always work on Wednesdays," Jimmy shrugged, looking slightly shifty. "It's you who isn't supposed to be here, don't you have workshop on Wednesday afternoons?"

"Last week of term, it got cancelled," said Thomas. "No, you should be at your audition! In London! Or on the way, at least, but – but you're here, why aren't you there?"

Jimmy paused, glancing at the rapidly growing line of irritated customers behind Thomas. "I – I'm not going, Thomas. There's no point. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work. Your usual mocha and a muffin, was it?"

Gaping wordlessly, Thomas looked at him with incredulity. "No. No, I'm not letting you throw this away. You!" He pointed and shouted at another barista who was just taking off their apron. "You're covering the rest of Jimmy's shift. Jimmy, take off your apron; you're coming with me."

"What?"

"Come on! Quickly!" He strode around the back of the counter, grabbing Jimmy's arm. "We've got an audition to get you to." He marched them out of the Starbucks, Jimmy shouting apologies over his shoulder.

"Right," said Thomas as he dragged Jimmy down the street. "It's too late to get the train but I bet Mary would lend us her car. "We've got about fifteen minutes before we absolutely have to leave if we take into account London traffic, which is just enough time for you to grab your music and change your shirt. I'll ring Mary and grab her car – she's already got me looking after the spare keys, so that's sorted – and you dash up to your flat and - "

"Thomas!" Jimmy panted, running up behind him. "Thomas, stop. I'm not going to London. I'm not auditioning. That's final."

Thomas drew himself up. "No!" he exclaimed, gesturing animatedly with his hands. "You're going to this audition, Jimmy. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't want this."

"Thomas - "

"You can't, can you?"

Jimmy stood open-mouthed for a moment, before shaking his head slowly.

"There you go, then," said Thomas triumphantly. "Look, I – I know it's scary, and I know it's hard, but you're really, really good, Jimmy, and if you don't try then you'll never know."

For a few seconds Jimmy frowned, conflicted, searching Thomas' face as if it was some kind of trick. Eventually he said, "Fine. I'll go to the bloody audition."

"Brilliant!" Thomas' eyes lit up, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Well, we have," he glanced at his watch, "ten minutes. Meet you by Mary's car?"

"Yeah." Jimmy said, smiling nervously. "I'll – I'll see you there!"

They stood awkwardly for another few seconds, not breaking eye contact.

"Come on! Let's go!" Thomas exclaimed, Jimmy nodding and dashing off.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, Thomas rang Mary as he ran down the road, back to Downton College.

" _This is Mary Grantham, please leave a message!"_

"Mary, it's Thomas. I hope it's okay – I'm borrowing your car. It's – it's important, I've got to get Jimmy to his audition. I'll fill it up again when we get back and you can have my waffles at brunch on Saturday. Thanks – you're the best!" He hung up as he reached Downton, darting inside and running to his room to grab Mary's spare keys from his desk drawer.

It was barely a minute after he sat down in Mary's car that Jimmy joined him, out of breath and wearing a button-up shirt that Thomas' suspected was Matthew's, his music and audition letter clutched in his hands.

"I'm here," he panted, slipping into the passenger seat and pulling the door closed. "Let's do this! Before I change my mind."

"Okay!" Thomas grinned, turning the key in the ignition. "Off we go!"

The first half hour of the drive down to London was silent. Neither of them could think of anything to say. At one point Thomas switched the radio on, but Jimmy switched it off again, saying it made him nervous.

"So…" Thomas asked once they got onto the motorway, "What pieces are you playing?"

"Bach and Chopin," Jimmy replied shortly, the strain in his voice betraying his nerves.

Thomas nodded. "Okay, er… great."

Jimmy picked at a hangnail, studying his lap intently. "How – how have you been, Thomas? It's been a while since, since we really caught up, you know?"

"Well, you know me," said Thomas with a wry smile. "I get by."

"What about…" Jimmy glanced at him nervously, lowering his voice as if afraid they might be heard. "What about after, you know, what happened? Are you – are you doing okay?"

Thomas hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening.

"I gave a statement to the police, but they haven't gotten any closer to finding out who it was. I didn't expect them to, really," he said matter-of-factly, his tone too conversational for the subject matter.

Jimmy turned slightly in his seat, tucking one leg under the other so he could face Thomas who continued to stare resolutely at the road. "That's not what I meant, Thomas."

Sighing and making a show of changing lanes, Thomas didn't answer at first, eyes still glued to the road ahead, staring forwards with determination.

"I'm fine," he said shortly after an uncomfortably long pause.

"Okay then," Jimmy said, nodding as if he believed what Thomas was saying. "If you don't want to talk about it, then that's fine. But it really will get easier if you talk about it."

Thomas half-glanced at him as he continued driving, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips taut. "Fine," he said, in one rush of breath. "You want to know how I'm doing? I get migraines all the bloody time, sometimes in class, sometimes at dinner, and I don't know why. I'll wake up some mornings and my chest aches and it takes me a few seconds to remember that, oh yeah, someone decided I should have my ribs broken. I can't comb my hair without irritating the scars on my scalp. I'm constantly lying to my boyfriend and to my best friend because I don't want them to know that I'm going back to counselling. I nearly made it a year off my anti-depressants but now, with a few weeks to go, I'm back on them, and I'm dreading having to tell my dad because he was so happy for me when I didn't have to take them anymore. But hey!" He waved one hand in the air, the other still gripping the steering wheel, his voice cracking with hysteria. "I only had one nightmare so far this week, so _that's_ an improvement."

"Jesus, Thomas," Jimmy breathed. "I – I had no idea. I'm sorry, I really am."

"Yeah, well," Thomas shrugged, wiping his eyes with his sleeve while still managing to drive straight. "No one knows that stuff, so keep it to yourself."

"Of course I will, you know I will. But what about Edward?" Jimmy asked, dreading the answer.

"He knows about the nightmares," Thomas said nonchalantly. "He, er, was woken up one night. But he doesn't know about the rest of it. He already blames himself, no matter how much I tell him that it wasn't his fault. I don't want him to feel any worse than he already does. Besides, if I start to tell him this stuff he'll just have more questions." He sighed, deflated. "Is it selfish of me to want him to think that I'm better than I am?"

"Not at all," Jimmy said quickly, jumping in. "Everyone wants their boyfriend or girlfriend to think the best of them. It's not like you're married or something; you've just been going out a few weeks, really."

"Yeah," agreed Thomas, not sounding completely convinced. "There's still time, right? We're not, you know… I mean, we haven't even…" His face turned a brilliant red as he spluttered slightly. "We're, um, we're nearly in London."

"Brilliant!" said Jimmy, filing away Thomas' impromptu confession for later. "That means we're nearly there, right?"

Thomas laughed humourlessly. "Jimmy, have you ever driven through London before?"

Jimmy looked at him, confused. "No. Why?"

Thomas only grinned slyly. "You'll see."

As they approached the centre of London, the pace suddenly slowed, crawling through tiny residential streets, stopping for the seemingly hundreds of children that had just been let out of school.

"What's with all these kids?!" Thomas yelled, turning a few nearby heads even though the windows were shut. "Some of us have somewhere to be!"

Jimmy smiled weakly at a glaring lollipop lady, desperately trying to compensate for Thomas' frustration.

Getting closer and closer to the city centre, Thomas got angrier and angrier with other drivers, hitting the horn so hard Jimmy worried he was going to set off the airbag multiple times. He tried to shrink down into his seat as Thomas ranted at a taxi that had overtaken him.

"Bloody Londoners!" He shouted.

" _Take the next left, then turn left, then do a U-turn"_ came the cool voice from the GPS on Thomas' phone.

"Don't you take that tone with me," Thomas huffed, pointing a finger at his phone and slamming the brake on as the traffic light turned red. A cyclist came up alongside them and stopped directly in front of them. "Seriously, mate? You get on a bike and suddenly you're _king of the universe_?"

"Thomas, calm down," said Jimmy, attempting to calm him down. "We've got plenty of time, look, we're just coming up to Hyde Park now."

"Do you have any idea how big Hyde Park is?" Thomas asked as they drove forward again, the light barely green. Jimmy wisely chose not to answer. "It's bloody huge. Bloody enormous. We're miles away, and we've only got fifteen minutes."

" _Go straight on."_

"Where the _fuck_ is straight on?!"

Jimmy pointed wildly at the most obvious road. "Er, that one! Go that way!"

" _Turn around where possible_."

"How about I give the directions," Jimmy said quickly, grabbing the phone and turning off the volume before Thomas hit something. Like the window. "Okay, so… right here – no, um, other right – never mind. Left here…"

"Okay," said Thomas once they were a few streets away. "We're going to be there exactly on time, so you leap out and I'll park and find you later."

"What?" Jimmy looked up from the GPS, startled. "Hang on, left here. You're just going to leave me there?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can, but if we wait for me to park you'll definitely be late. I don't even know where you can park when you're this central, so I might be a while, but you'll be fine. You've got this, Jimmy. You'll be great."

He pulled up outside the old, grand building, dwarfed by the Royal Albert Hall over the road. "Quickly! I'm on double yellows!"

"Okay," Jimmy said, but didn't move.

"Jimmy!" Thomas put the handbrake on and turned in his seat, putting a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "You've got this. You'll be great. Now get your arse in there. Now!"

Jimmy nodded frantically and leapt out of the car. "Okay. Okay, I - " He turned back before closing the door. "Thank you, Thomas." He shut the door and spun around to face the entrance to the College, swallowing his nerves, and stepping inside.

Well over twenty minutes had passed by the time Thomas had managed to find a parking space, scrabble in the bottom of Mary's car for change for the ticket, and walk back to the College. He darted inside, looking around frantically for where Jimmy might be.

Two students wearing official-looking name badges were sat behind a desk further inside the entrance hall. Bemused, Thomas watched as they argued in whispers over something before tossing a coin, the one who had clearly won the coin toss coming up to him. "Hi there," he smiled, carefully brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Are you here for auditions?"

"Yes! I mean, no," said Thomas, too worried about Jimmy to think about anything else. "I'm supporting someone, but I think he's gone in. James Kent?"

"He's just gone in," the boy said, still smiling perhaps too much. "How do you…"

"Oh, he's my friend," Thomas said, following the boy to the waiting area. "I really hope he's okay; he was so nervous about auditioning today."

"You know," the boy said. His smile quickly vanished, but he didn't seem particularly irritated. "You know, this is a music college. We're all artists. We're much more open about… things… here."

Thomas looked at him for a moment, baffled, before realisation dawned. "Oh, no! We, er, actually are friends."

"Really?" The smile was back.

Shrugging, Thomas said, "Yeah; he's straight."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"And I have a boyfriend."

"Hm," the boy said, now obviously annoyed. " _Really_."

"Thomas?"

Thomas turned at Jimmy's voice, the guide scowling and going to join his now-laughing colleague. "Jimmy! How did it go?"

"Okay, I guess," said Jimmy. "I was so nervous; look!" He held out his hands which were shaking. "I messed up the modulation in the Chopin, and I got some of the fingering wrong in the Bach, but I think the rest was okay. Oh, and I got my cadences mixed up."

"I don't know what any of that means, but it sounds like you did pretty well!"

They stepped back outside into the late afternoon sunlight, a strange moment of stillness in the bustling street.

"So the parking was minimum pay for two hours," said Thomas. "What do you say we get a celebratory drink, or early dinner? You deserve it, and besides; we're in London. It would be a shame to go straight home again."

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"It's not a Starbucks."

Thomas laughed. "I think I can get on board with that! We're in South Kensington; Starbucks is the lowest of the low here. It's the last week of term and I have a fair bit of student loan left; how about we blow it on overly expensive tea and cake that's worthy of even the Granthams and the Crawleys of the world?"

Jimmy gave Thomas an enormous grin. "That sounds bloody brilliant."

The tea and cake was, as predicted, extortionately expensive, but neither of them minded, caught up in the excitement of the city and the buzz of post-nerves conversation. It was getting dark by the time they got back to Mary's car, laughing and holding chips that they'd bought for the journey home.

"Hang on a second," Thomas said as they reached the car, his phone ringing in his pocket. "Uh-oh. It's Mary." He exchanged a warning glance with Jimmy before answering the phone. "Hi, Mary."

"Thomas Frederick Barrow, what the hell have you done with my car?!"

"Okay, Mary, calm down - "

"I did not give you a spare key so you could steal my car!"

"If I can just explain - "

"No! You can't _just explain_! In fact – in fact, I demand an explanation!"

"It was Jimmy's audition," Thomas said patiently. "He – he missed his train, and it was the only way to get to London on time. I'm sorry, Mary, I really am. But I'll fill up the tank for you, and I'll do whatever you want as payment. Especially if it involves finding dirt on Edith."

He could hear her sigh down the phone. "Fine. I suppose that that is a good explanation. And yes, any dirt you could get on Edith would be much appreciated. But don't think you won't be hearing more from me when you get back."

"Thank you, Mary – I knew you'd understand."

"Hmph. Don't think I'll let you do this again; I'll want that spare key back. And Thomas?"

"Yes?"

"I know you, and I know what you like to eat on road trips. Don't you dare eat chips in that car."

Passing his chips to Jimmy who was clambering in the passenger seat, Thomas said, "Of course, Mary. No chips in your car."

He hung up, got into the car, and put his phone in the glovebox. "We can follow the road signs out of London. Less stressful than listening to that bloody awful voice the whole way."

"Good plan," said Jimmy through a mouthful of chips. "Thomas?"

"Yes?"

Jimmy smiled. "Thank you. For everything."

The journey back seemed much shorter than the journey there. There were no awkward silences, no tense pauses; instead, they had the radio on full blast all the way home, singing along to the terrible '90s hits that the DJ was playing at the top of their voices. It was well into the evening when they reached Oxford once more, streetlights glowing above them.

"Home sweet home," Thomas said as he parked in Mary's usual spot outside Downton College, switching off the engine.

"Yep," said Jimmy. "Thank you for today, Thomas. For – for making me go for that audition. Even if I don't get in, I'm glad that I tried. Although, who are we kidding; I really want to get in."

"That's the spirit!" said Thomas, pulling his phone back out of the glovebox. "Now, how about we – wait a second." His brow furrowed as he checked the notifications on his phone. "Seven missed calls, who – it's Edward. Sorry, Jimmy, I have to ring him back, he never rings this many times."

"That's fine," Jimmy said, frowning and unstrapping his seatbelt. "Maybe I should go home." He stepped out of the car, waving goodbye to Thomas who was ringing Edward. "See you later, Thomas."

Thomas waved back, the call to Edward connecting as soon as the car door was shut. "Edward, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"Thomas, where the hell have you been? I was so worried! Are you alright, what happened?"

"I'm – I'm fine, really, are _you_ okay?"

There was a long silence. Just as Thomas was about to ask what was wrong, Edward spoke again.

"So… so you're fine?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"There's nothing wrong?"

"No, of course not; what's going on, Edward?"

Edward's voice was unusually cold when he spoke again. "You mean you don't remember? You just – you just completely forgot?"

Thomas felt a chill creep across his body as it all came back to him. "We – we were supposed to go for dinner."

"Yes."

"For – for your birthday."

" _Yes_."

"Shit, Edward, I'm so sorry – are you back at St Hilda's?"

"Of course I am, Thomas! I waited for an _hour_ for you, by myself, in a that restaurant. I thought something must be seriously wrong, but no, you just – you just _forgot_."

"Edward, I'll be there as soon as possible, okay? I'm coming, I promise, and I – I'm so sorry. Really, truly, I am."

He couldn't think of anything to say and neither, it seemed, could Edward, so he hung up, turned the key in the ignition once more and drove.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

 _In which Thomas and Edward, and Mary and Matthew, come to some important realisations._

Edward was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, when there was a knock at his door.

"Edward? Edward, it's me. I – I'm so sorry, please, _please_ let me in."

He sat up slowly, taking a moment to wipe the tears from his face and put his glasses back on before standing up. He was torn; he wanted to run to the door, fling it open and throw his arms around Thomas and insist that everything was forgiven, that everyone makes mistakes, that it was okay. But he also wanted to stay there, the other side of that door forever, never having to face the truth, never having to face Thomas. Besides, wouldn't there be some sort of poetic justice in making Thomas wait?

Slowly, each step costing him the world, he crossed the room, tentatively wrapping his hand around the door handle as if he thought it might burn him. No door had ever been so hard to open as this one.

"Thomas," he said in a small voice when he'd opened the door enough to make eye contact.

"Edward," Thomas breathed, out of breath. "Edward, I'm so sorry, really I am, I'll do anything to make it up to you – anything - "

Edward only stepped to one side, opening the door all the way. "Come in."

Thomas strode into the room, running his hands through his hair as Edward shut the door behind him. "You have to believe me, Edward – I, I'm sorry, I hate myself for it, I swear, I – Edward?"

Edward simply stood across from him. He'd thought that once Thomas was there, he might get angry. He'd planned the whole thing; what he would say, how he would say it, he could even imagine exactly the words Thomas would say as he grovelled for forgiveness but –

No.

"What are we doing, Thomas?" He said, the words rushing out of him like a sigh.

It took a few seconds for Thomas to realise what Edward had said. "What – what do you mean?"

"I mean that this is ridiculous! It's obvious that this isn't working!" Edward laughed hysterically, desperately trying to ignore the tears once again gathering in his eyes. "Why don't we just… why don't we just call it off? There's no point anymore, Thomas, we both know it."

"No!" Thomas exclaimed, his eyes wide as Edward's meaning hit him. "No, Edward, we – why – but – how could you - " His hands flew to his head in panic, his breath shortening. "Don't do this, Edward, please don't, I know I screwed up but I'll be better, I promise, I'll do anything, I'll give you anything I'll - " He broke off mid-sentence, his whole body shaking with desperation. "I'll give you everything, Edward," he said, his voice eerily still, "I promise, I'll give you everything, I will."

Edward was stunned into silence. "How – how could you?" he said, his voice dripping with disgust. "How could you even _think_ that I'm so awful, so – so terrible? This isn't about that, Thomas. It was never about that, and that you could even think that of me…" He trailed off, thinking, putting pieces together in his head.

"What happened to you, Thomas?" he said after the longest minute of his life, his voice no longer filled with disgust but with pity. "What happened that you think that's how relationships work? Why won't you tell me anything?"

The little colour that Thomas had drained from his face. "I'll tell you, Edward," he said, his voice barely more than a trembling whisper. "I will, if you want me to."

They stared at each other for a moment, Thomas desperate for some reassurance, Edward knowing that whatever he said next would change everything.

"No, Thomas," he said, heartbroken and caring. "I don't want you to. Not – not because you think it will help anything. Because it won't."

Thomas gaped at him, desperately trying to make sense of what was going on. "I don't understand."

"You don't – you don't like me, Thomas," Edward said, feeling his heart break as the words left his mouth. "Not – not in the way that matters. I'm sure you think I'm nice, and I'm sure you enjoy spending time with me, and I'm sure you think that I'm attractive enough or _whatever_ , but it's not the same. I mean – you didn't even know I existed after we'd spent over two years in the same class together. I was just – I was just so desperate for you to notice me that when you finally did, I didn't stop to think why. I didn't question it, I was just so damn _happy_ because you, Thomas Barrow, who I'd fancied since I got here, was finally paying me attention.

"But you didn't notice me. You didn't – you didn't see me. I was just _there_. Then you realised that I liked you, and – let's face it. You didn't like _me_. You liked having someone like _you_."

"No," Thomas gasped, shaking his head. "No, Edward that's not what it was like!"

"But it was!" protested Edward. "And – and I don't blame you, not at all, and I daresay you felt bad because I'd been with you all that time in hospital and look, here's this young guy who's probably not all that bad-looking and he's willing to sit by your bedside for hours on end barely knowing you, he's willing to help you dress in the mornings and check your dressings when we've only been going out for a week, he's going to stick by you no matter what because he cares _so damn much_. Anyone would have done the same. I know I would. And I know you cared about me, too, but not in the way I wanted you to. The way I _want_ you to."

Thomas was still shaking his head but couldn't bring himself to deny what Edward was saying. "I – I'll change, I promise I will, I promise I can!"

"Don't you get it, Thomas?!" Edward exclaimed. "That's – that's not what I want. I don't want you to make yourself love me. It's me that's been kidding myself all this time. I told myself that there was nothing to worry about, that it meant nothing, but I was lying to myself because I didn't want to admit that you would never feel the same way about me that I felt about you. I've known since he walked into that hospital room, Thomas, that I'll never have you, never have _all_ of you, because it's not me that you're in love with. It was selfish of me to keep this going this far, but I couldn't bear to face up to the fact that this – this was never going to last."

He took off his glasses, wiping away the tears that were pooling on his cheeks. "All – all I want," he sniffed, "is for you to be happy. And that won't happen with me. It's – it's taken me this long to realise it, to admit it to myself, but you'll never be happy with me, not completely. And if you can't be happy with me? I can't be happy with you. There'll be other people for me, Thomas, there will, but for you? There's – there's only Jimmy."

Sinking down into Edward's desk chair, Thomas put his head in his hands. "What are you saying?" he murmured, rubbing at his own tears.

Edward strode over to him, kneeling down and taking Thomas' hands in his. "I'm saying that we… we should end this." He lifted one hand up to Thomas' cheek, wiping away the tears that were falling. "It will be horrible, for a while. We'll both be miserable, and eat too much ice cream, and watch too much Netflix, and we won't go outside until our friends physically drag us there. But that will go away, and we'll realise that it was the best decision, and then _you_ will go to that boy that you love so much you would steal a car from Mary Grantham for him, and you will tell him how much you love him, and he will tell you how much he loves you."

For a moment, it looked like Thomas was going to protest, but he simply nodded. "What about you?" he asked, his grey eyes filled with nothing but warmth. "What will you do?"

Edward shrugged. "I'll be okay. I'll graduate, move back home, meet someone new. I'll be okay; you'll see." Unable to help himself, he leant forwards, kissing Thomas one last time. In that one, simple kiss he tried to say everything that couldn't be said with words, and when Thomas squeezed his hand once before pulling back he knew that the message had been received.

Thomas stood up, brushing his trousers off. "I - " he started, but his brain came to a startling halt as his gaze met Edward's wide eyes, amplified underneath his glasses. "Goodbye, Edward."

It took an age for him to turn around and take those few, final steps out of the door, not breathing until it had clicked shut behind him, and he slid down against it and collapsed into sobs, his only solace hearing Edward to the exact same thing on the other side.

* * *

"I can't believe he just took my car to London like that," Mary sighed, settling in on Matthew's sofa with a glass of wine in her hand.

"You know Thomas," said Matthew, joining her. "He'd do anything for Jimmy."

Mary sipped at her wine. "Of course. When do you reckon they'll figure it out?"

"Who knows? It's not exactly Thomas that we're waiting on."

"Very true." She went to say something else, but was interrupted when the door to Matthew's flat opened.

"Matthew?" Jimmy called from the tiny hallway.

"We're in here," Matthew called back, setting down his wine as Jimmy came in. "How did the audition go?"

"I think it went okay," Jimmy said, unsure. "I guess there's nothing I can do now except wait to find out."

"Did you have fun with Thomas?" Mary asked knowingly, raising an eyebrow conspiratorially.

The change in Jimmy's demeanour was obvious at the mention of Thomas' name; he seemed to grow two inches taller, the lights in his eyes suddenly flicked on.

"Yes!" he grinned, "we had a great time. He had to go, though; I think he missed a date with Edward or something."

Matthew spluttered out the wine he'd just sipped at this revelation, looking incredulous at Jimmy's glee at this information.

"I think I'm going to have a bath," Jimmy said decisively, seemingly unaware of any ruckus he'd caused as Mary grabbed a tissue and started frantically dabbing at the wine on Matthew's leg. "Matthew, do you know if my towel's in the bathroom?"

"Should be," Matthew choked out as Jimmy drifted off.

"I have never seen anyone so smitten," Mary laughed as soon as Jimmy was out of earshot. "Do you think he's realised yet?"

"We will all know about it when he will," said Matthew. "Mary, do you - " He shifted in his seat so he was facing Mary, his elbow resting on the back of the sofa. "Can I ask you something?"

Mary went to answer with her usual retort, but something in Matthew's expression stopped her. "Of course you can."

"Do you – do you think that if, that if two people like each other, they should… they should do something about it? Even if they're really good friends, do you… do you think it's ever worth staying friends even if there's something more going on?"

"I think - " Mary started, her breath catching in her throat, "I think that it depends on the people. But I think that sometimes two people can be so determined to be friends and so determined to deny themselves because it's what they think that it's what's best that they…" She tried to keep her eyes focussed on Matthew's but they couldn't, he wasn't even looking into her eyes, he was looking at her lips as if wondering what it might be like to –

"They don't notice what's right in front of them," she finished with a whisper, barely having time to breathe before she and Matthew lunged towards each other, meeting halfway in a messy kiss that was filled with everything they'd wanted to say for months and months. Throwing her wine glass to the floor, not caring what happened, Mary took Matthew's head in her hands, his own arms desperately wrapping around her waist as he pulled her closer. She felt the tip of his tongue against hers, moving their lips together in almost impossible synchronicity. She felt Matthew's sharp inhale as she pulled herself even closer, feeling his heartbeat as strong as her own.

"Oh, God," Matthew breathed as they parted, their lips still brushing against each other as he spoke. "I've wanted to do that for so long - "

"Then do it again," Mary replied, kissing him again, feeling nothing except Matthew's sheer presence.

The next day they would realise that they'd forgotten to clean up the wine, and that it would be easier to replace the rug than to clean it, and they would realise that they'd never noticed Jimmy coming out of the bathroom, quietly slipping past them to sleep in Matthew's bed that night as the two of them curled up together on the sofa, revelling in the other's presence, kissing and holding each other close and, eventually, sleeping.

And the next day, they would wake up and realise that everything was just that little bit brighter than it had been just hours before, and they would smile as if the world belonged to him and they would kiss like they couldn't get enough of it.

And for the first time in weeks, Matthew would look forward to the next day. And the day after that.

And the one after that.

 **We're in the home stretch now - only three chapters left! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far - keep them coming!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Rating has been raised because of this chapter which deals with some pretty heavy topics.**

 **TRIGGER WARNINGS!**

 **Warnings in this chapter for talk of a past suicide attempt, self-harm, depression, an abusive relationship and consent issues.**

 **Chapter 23**

 _In which Jimmy comforts Thomas, and Thomas shares his biggest secret._

"Thomas?" Jimmy rapped on Thomas' door with his free hand, not caring if he was waking anyone else up. "Thomas, are you in there?"

"Of course he is." Jimmy jumped as Tom opened his door, sticking his head round. "He's been crying for the last hour, I tried to check if he was okay but he wouldn't answer the door." He saw Jimmy's dubious expression. "Thin walls, remember? And do you have pizza?"

"Thomas?!" Jimmy called again, louder this time, not bothering to reply to Tom who rolled his eyes and slunk back into his room. "Thomas, it's me, it's Jimmy. Come on, let me in."

"Fine." The door swung open revealing a red-eyed, dishevelled Thomas. "What do you want?"

For a few seconds Jimmy just took in the sight before him. Thomas hadn't changed out of the clothes he'd been wearing that day, his shirt now crumpled, his hair falling into his eyes.

"I – I just - " Jimmy stammered, still staring at the pitiful sight that was Thomas. He cleared his throat. "I, er, thought you might – I mean - "

Thomas sighed, running out of patience. "Jimmy, what the hell do you want?"

"I was worried about you," Jimmy blurted out. "I figured you might be here, and that if you were, you might need someone to, you know, cheer you up or something."

"Thanks, but I don't want cheering up," Thomas said dryly, going to shut the door and glaring at Jimmy when he shouldered his way in regardless.

"Then I've come to cry and commiserate with you," said Jimmy. "I've brought two large pizzas from that takeaway place you like, a six-pack of beers, and some terrible film of Matthew's that involves blowing up aliens or gladiators or dragons or something. What do you say?"

Thomas didn't say anything, only stepping back into his room and holding the door open for Jimmy.

"Just so we're clear," he said as Jimmy set down the pizzas and beer, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Who do you think I am, Mary?" Jimmy said incredulously. "I'm serious, Thomas; whatever you want, whatever you need, we'll do that. This stuff works with Matthew, so I figured it might work with you as well."

Looking dubiously at the DVD Jimmy was waving, Thomas nodded. "Worth a shot."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Jimmy reached inside his pocket for his wallet, pulling out a ten pound note and handing it to Thomas. "Here you go. Your winnings."

Thomas looked at the offered note, confused. "My what?"

"Our bet?" Jimmy said, giving Thomas a half-smile. "As of this evening, you won."

Realisation dawned on Thomas' face. "You're serious? They got together?"

Jimmy snorted with laughter. "They seemed well on their way to producing baby Crawleys when I left, so yeah, I'd say they're together."

"And you thought it would take them until June," Thomas said, smugly but without his usual snark, taking the ten pounds and pocketing it. "My laptop's on, you can put the DVD in if you want."

As Jimmy set up his laptop he cleared enough room on his bed for them both to sit, quickly gathering the used tissues that had been piling there over the last hour and binning them.

"Thanks for coming over," said Thomas in a small voice as they settled in on his bed, his laptop resting between them.

Jimmy smiled sympathetically, bumping Thomas' shoulder with his own. "It's no problem. It's what friends do."

"Yeah." His face falling slightly, Thomas pretended to turn his attention to the film, Jimmy watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"Pizza?"

Thomas took the box Jimmy was offering him, the corners of his mouth lifting when he opened the lid and saw the pizza inside.

"You remembered my favourite."

"Of course I did!" Jimmy said, feigning nonchalance but obviously pleased at the reaction. "Only you has that bizarre combination of toppings. The people at the pizza place knew it was for you when I placed the order." He reached for the pack of beers, handing one to Thomas. "Here. Everything looks better with pizza and beer."

They ate their pizzas in silence, neither of them focussing on the film, their minds elsewhere. It wasn't until halfway through the film when, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and having had two beers each, Thomas spoke again.

"I screwed everything up, Jimmy," he said morosely, wrapping his arms around his legs as he curled up into a ball. "It's no wonder he doesn't want to be with me anymore."

Jimmy had suspected that this was what had happened, and that Thomas might eventually want to talk about it, but he still hadn't thought of what he was going to say. "So, er, things didn't go well?"

"You can say that again," Thomas scoffed. "We, um," he rubbed frantically at his eyes, as if it would make the tears stop before whispering, "we broke up."

"Shit, Thomas, I'm sorry." Jimmy lifted his hand up, unsure what to do, and settled on rubbing Thomas' shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting motion. He debated whether or not to ask what happened, unsure as to how much was his own curiosity, but Thomas beat him to it.

"It's all my fault. He was such a great guy, so much better than I deserve, and I screwed it up by just…" He ran a hand through his already untidy hair. "By just being the bastard that I am."

"That's not true!" Jimmy said, sitting up quickly and turning so he could face Thomas more easily. "You're a great guy, Thomas, really, you are – I bet there are loads of guys out there who would kill to be with someone like you. And if it's about today, I'll go and I'll explain to him that it was my fault, I'll – I'll tell him that I kidnapped you and made you drive me, or that I got hit by a bus and you were waiting with me in hospital, or that you had to rescue a kitten or something – something that will make you sound really good, really heroic, you know?"

"Thanks," Thomas said, giving him a watery smile, "But no. It wasn't just today. And he – he was right, everything he said, he was right about all of it. I won't ever love him. Not in the way that he wants me to. And if I'm going to keep screwing up like this, it's just easier if we… if we call things off."

He sniffed some more, swallowing his pride and grabbing a tissue from the box on his bedside table.

"Just because it was the right thing to do doesn't stop it hurting like a bitch."

"Yeah," Thomas agreed, blowing his nose. "You're right. It doesn't."

"But I promise you," Jimmy said, his hand still gripping Thomas' shoulder, "There's someone out there for you. There has to be, because… because if you can't find someone, what hope do the rest of us have?"

They both chuckled at that, Thomas wiping away the remnants of his tears.

"I'm not so sure about that, Jimmy," said Thomas sadly. "I – I have a history of screwing things up. I mean, I got beaten up on our first date! How – how didn't I take that as a hint? Maybe I should just… listen to the messages I'm getting. I'm obviously just… not meant to have someone. It's probably for the best."

"No, Thomas, don't you dare!" Taking Thomas' shoulders, Jimmy looked straight into his eyes. "Don't you dare think that sort of thing! You… you deserve all the happiness there is, don't you get that? I wish… I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

There was a long silence as they gazed at each other, Thomas' eyes wide, lips slightly parted.

"Anyway!" Jimmy quickly jumped back, moving back round so he was side-on to Thomas again. He couldn't think of anything to say, worried that he'd already said too much.

"Jimmy?" Thomas breathed, saying his name as if it were the most important thing in the world. "Jimmy, can… can I tell you something?"

"Of course you can," Jimmy said, turning his head to face him. "You can tell me anything, Thomas."

"It's just…" Thomas sniffed, studying his fingernails. "Okay, I, I've never told anyone this. Some people – some people know bits of what happened, like – like Mary and, and my dad, but I – I've never told anyone the whole story or anything, so…"

"You don't have to tell me anything," Jimmy said, putting his hand over Thomas'.

"I just, I'm just fed up, you know? I – Edward deserved to know but I could never bring myself to tell him because he was just so… Edward, and I didn't, didn't want him to know because I thought he might think – I thought he might – and it was just so much, and…"

"Hey, hey." Jimmy wrapped his arms around Thomas, holding him close as he cried into his shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here." He rubbed Thomas' back until he'd calmed down before pulling away, taking Thomas' arms instead.

"I'm serious, Thomas – don't feel like you have to tell me anything." He took Thomas' wrists in his hands, looking him straight in the eye. He'd hoped that his words might relax Thomas but they had the opposite effect, tensing under Jimmy's fingers.

"What's wrong, Thomas?" he murmured, worry mounting in his head. "Can I help? Please, tell me, if there's anything I can do to help, anything at all!"

"Could you…" Thomas said, shaking. "Could you listen? I just… I need someone to know, I need _you_ to know everything."

Jimmy only nodded, solemn.

"It was in school," Thomas started, his voice trembling. "I was in my last year of school, and I – well, I wasn't really, you know, out. Mary knew, and her sister Sybil did, but that… that was it. Except there was this one bloke in our year, he – he was a posh toff, everyone was except me, and, well, I think he guessed. A, a few months after, after I turned eighteen, he started flirting with me, and we ended up going on a few dates, and one thing led to another, and… and we ended up going out, you know, properly. It was all secret, I didn't even tell Mary, and I made him keep it a secret too because I was just so, so scared of someone finding out. Things have never – never been great at home, I didn't really have any friends outside of Mary, and Philip was… he was an escape from all that."

He curled into himself, not meeting Jimmy's concerned gaze, his voice uncannily still as he spoke.

"I – I didn't love him, but that didn't matter. He was – he was someone who was mine, just mine, in a way that he was no one else's, and he was someone to talk to about everything that was messing around in my head because no one else understood, and he was there for all the shit that happened and for a couple of months it was the best thing that I could ever have imagined.

"And then," he pressed his fists into his eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay, sitting up and taking a few deep breaths before continuing. "After a while, he… well, you know, we were eighteen-year-old boys. We'd kissed, of course we had, and we'd fooled around a bit, but never very much, nothing too much, but he wanted more, and he kept asking me every time we were alone together if _now would be the time_. And I kept – I kept saying no, because I wanted, I wanted someone I loved. I know – I know it's sad, and pathetic, but I wanted to really _love_ the first person I was with."

"That's not sad, or pathetic," Jimmy interrupted, taking Thomas' hands in his. "I – think that it's wonderful. Really."

"Yeah," Thomas said scornfully. "That's so believable coming from you."

"I'm serious," said Jimmy. "So I've been with a lot of women. But I wish… I wish I hadn't, you know? I wish I _still_ hadn't, that I'd at least waited until I was in a steady relationship or something, because I – I've never been in a relationship that lasted more than a few weeks, and I want to know what it's like. When you love the person you're with."

He reached forwards without really knowing why, brushing Thomas' hair out of his eyes. "I'm sorry. You were telling me about him. Philip."

"Yeah." Thomas nodded a few times, preparing himself for what he was about to say. "He – he kept asking, and I kept saying no, and after a while it was all we talked about it. I didn't want to, but after a while it was obvious that if I didn't, he'd – he'd leave. And I couldn't – I couldn't stand the thought of that, really, I couldn't, because somehow I'd stopped spending time with Mary and I knew my dad just didn't understand anything and Philip was suddenly my whole world and the thought of not having him in my life was just too much."

"Thomas," Jimmy said in a warning tone. "Thomas, I don't know much about relationships, but that – if you felt that way, that's not healthy, that's not - "

"I know that now," Thomas said weakly. "But I didn't, not at the time, I was convinced that he was the best thing that could ever happen to me, that I'd never find someone like him again, and he was threatening to leave so I - "

"No!" exclaimed Jimmy. "No, you didn't, please tell me you didn't!"

Thomas shot him a pleading look, and he stopped talking.

"One weekend, my – my dad was away for the weekend, so I, I, I invited him over. I – I had it all planned out, I made him dinner and I'd spent ages putting candles around my room and getting a playlist and I'd bought nice sheets and – and everything we'd need and – we were there, in my room, making out and I – I just couldn't do it, Jimmy, I couldn't, because I didn't - " He broke off into sobs, once again letting himself be pulled into Jimmy's embrace.

"He got so angry," Thomas gasped into Jimmy's chest. "He said – he said that I'd tricked him, that it was all over because he couldn't be with some – some prude – and he pushed me into the wall and I got him off me and I was crying and he was screaming and he told me everything about me that I thought everyone else was thinking, he told me all these bloody awful things and it wasn't until I got to a phone and – and threatened to call the police – and he left then and I, God, how could I have been so stupid, and I was so upset and all I could do was cry and my dad came back the next day and saw me crying but I wouldn't tell him, I couldn't tell him what had happened because he'd be so disappointed and angry and I still haven't told him what happened that day.

"I – I nearly didn't go to school that Monday because the only reason I even wanted to go to school anymore was because Philip was there and now he was gone but my dad wouldn't let me stay at home, he made me go into school and when I got there…"

He curled closer into Jimmy's arms, letting himself be rocked and hushed and cared for.

"There were some photos," he whispered, ashamed. "I – Philip had asked me, once, to send me some photos, and I had. And suddenly everyone had seen them and everyone knew and the things everyone had _seen_ – " He broke off, unable to speak anymore, gasping for every wheezing breath.

"It's okay," Jimmy said, determined to do everything he could to make sure Thomas felt safe. "It wasn't your fault, you weren't in the wrong, and you're safe now. He's not here, _I'm_ here, and you're _safe_."

"I went home," Thomas gasped, and Jimmy wasn't even sure if his words were registering anymore. "I didn't even go to my first class. I went home and my dad had already left for work and I hated everything and I just wanted it all to _stop_ and I needed to get out and I - "

He stopped talking suddenly, staring at the wall over Jimmy's shoulder. Jimmy felt panic wash over him like a sea of ice, all the pieces slotting together in his mind as he worked out what Thomas was talking about, all the worries, all the side glances, every odd motion Thomas had ever made.

"Mary found me." Thomas' voice was empty, expressionless as he spoke. "She – she realised I'd gone home and she followed me and she knew we didn't lock the back door and she – she found me. In the bath."

There were fat, silent tears rolling down Jimmy's cheeks as Thomas pulled out of his arms, rolling up his shirt sleeves as if he was in a dream, displaying the scars that, three years later, still stood out like a twisted geology against his white skin.

"I'm so sorry."

There was nothing else that Jimmy could say.

"So now you know," Thomas sniffed. "It's a good thing Edward ended things when he did; he can do better. He deserves someone who, someone who isn't broken."

"Don't talk about yourself that way," Jimmy cried, taking Thomas' face in his hands. "Don't you dare, Thomas, don't you bloody dare, because you are worth so, so much more because you are a fighter, you're here and you're living your life and you – you took a huge risk, letting someone new into your life like that, and even if it ended badly it can still be _good_. All relationships end badly, Thomas, because the best ones don't end at all. But you deserve the world, Thomas. More than anyone else."

Thomas only shook his head. "No, Jimmy, I don't, but it was nice of you to say so. Edward deserves better than me." He looked Jimmy straight in the eye. "You deserve better."

Jimmy didn't know what to say to that, didn't even know why he felt his heart break quite so much at those words.

"I think I'd like to sleep now," Thomas mumbled, making no motion to do anything about that fact.

"That's probably a good idea," Jimmy said quickly, grateful for something to do as he cleared away the pizza boxes and beer cans and switched off the laptop that was now playing the DVD menu on repeat. "I'm not leaving you though," he said decisively. "I'm staying here, no matter what you say. I'll sleep in the corridor if I have to."

He didn't have to make any more threats however, as Thomas wrapped his arms around Jimmy's waist and pulling him down to his pillow, holding him tight.

"Is this alright?" He said almost incoherently, his voice muffled by Jimmy's t-shirt.

"Of course it is."

It only took a matter of seconds for Thomas to fall asleep, gripping onto Jimmy like he was the only thing stopping him from drowning. He tried to stop himself but Jimmy couldn't help but look at the scars still on display on Thomas' wrists, and then to his face, unnervingly peaceful despite everything. Not allowing himself to overthink his actions, Jimmy gently placed a kiss on Thomas' forehead, before shutting his eyes and joining his friend in a much-needed sleep.

"Goodnight, Thomas."


	24. Chapter 24

**Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter! Lots of love to you all!**

 **Chapter 24**

 _In which Mary and Thomas go home for the Easter holidays, and Matthew attempts to talk some sense into Jimmy._

"Here we are, Mr Carson; the end of another term! Where does the time go?"

"Don't ask me, Mrs Hughes," said Mr Carson in his usual boom. "I still remember your first shift here – I don't even know how long ago _that_ was."

"Excuse me!" Mrs Hughes chortled. "Not that long, I'm sure!"

"Whatever you say," smiled Mr Carson. "Are you doing anything nice over the holiday?"

"I'm going to visit my sister, but that's all. Yourself?"

"Oh, not much," he growled. "Now, you know much more about these things than I do; there was a fellow coming in last night with a bouquet of flowers. Tall, blond, seemed fairly well-spoken, but I'd never seen him before in my life. I don't suppose you have any idea who he is?"

Mrs Hughes face lit up with the glee of fresh gossip. "I think who you're referring to is Matthew Crawley; he's a post-graduate student at Christ Church. He's Mary Grantham's new young man."

"Oh, well," Mr Carson huffed, his opinion of the stranger completely transformed. "That changes things."

"I'm sure he's wonderful," Mrs Hughes said decisively, packing up her handbag and shrugging on her coat. "Have a good holiday, if I don't see you before then. Try to stay out of trouble."

A disgruntled "Harrumph" was her only response, and she smiled to herself before shutting the door behind her.

* * *

Thomas pushed his shepherd's pie around on his plate with his fork, looking miserably at the increasingly soggy mashed potato.

"Hey." He looked up at his father's voice. "Hey, what's wrong?"

He shrugged, forcing a smile. "Nothing, I – I'm fine."

"You're sure about that?" His dad raised his eyebrows, sitting back in his seat. "You seem…"

"Down?"

"I was going to say bloody miserable, but that works too." Trying another tactic, Mr Barrow leant forwards, pushing his empty plate away. "I know this has been a rough term for you, and I want to help in any way I can. Just tell me, Thomas."

Thomas smiled weakly, making himself eat a forkful of his dinner. "I'm fine, Dad – see? Nothing to worry about."

"Hmm." His father didn't seem convinced. "You know…" He shifted awkwardly, about to head into unchartered territory with their conversation. "I was thinking, maybe you could, er, invite Edward over for a few days? I don't know if you two have any plans to meet up at all over the holiday, but he lives quite far away, so if he wanted to stay over for a few nights that would be fine. There would be rules of course," he added sternly, "But it would be nice to have him round. You could show him Yorkshire, and I'd like to get to know him more." He almost added 'outside of the hospital' to the end of his sentence, but thought better of it.

"Thanks, Dad," whispered Thomas, "But… but we, um, we broke up."

"Oh," said Mr Barrow, taken aback. "Oh, I – I didn't realise. I'm sorry, Thomas."

"That's fine," Thomas shrugged. "You weren't to know. And it was the only the other day."

"Oh," Mr Barrow said again, this time a touch sterner. "What happened? You don't have to tell me, of course, but… do I need to go and teach that boy a lesson?"

"Dad!" Thomas exclaimed. "No, you don't, we – actually, he broke up with me, because I'm a bloody idiot who screwed everything up. I – I appreciate it, I really do, and I'm still so glad that you're okay with all of this, but no… no intimidation is needed."

"As long as you're sure," his father gruffly replied. "All I want is for you to be happy, and if that involves knocking the living daylights out of some posh kid then I'll do it."

Thomas couldn't help but smile half-heartedly at that. "Thanks, Dad."

"That's my job," Mr Barrow said, matter-of-fact, but it was clear he took more than a little pride in it. "I know things will be looking really rough right now, but they'll be alright, son. You'll see."

"Really?" Thomas laughed humourlessly. "You thought you loved Mum, and look what happened there."

There was a sudden long, tense silence, Thomas' words hanging in the air between them.

"I'm sorry," Thomas whispered. "I – I shouldn't have said that."

His father huffed, "No. You shouldn't."

Throwing his fork down onto his barely-eaten meal, Thomas stood up. "I'm going to go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Now, wait one minute!" Mr Barrow snapped, jumping up. For a few seconds it looked like he was going to shout, to get angry, but instead he slowly walked over to Thomas, sighing heavily. "I'm not going to lie to you, Thomas. Sometimes things don't work out – sometimes it's just after a few dates, sometimes it's after years and years and you thought you were going to be together. I wish things hadn't ended so badly between me and your mother, I do every day, but I can't regret them because we got a hell of a lot of really good years, and, more importantly, we got _you_. Having you as my son is more important to me than anything else. I want you to always remember that."

Thomas nodded as his father pulled him into a tight hug.

"Dad?" He breathed, his voice shaking. "Dad, I – I'm back on my medicine. You know, the – the antidepressants. I, I've been on them for a few weeks now and I didn't know how to tell you because I – I just – please don't be mad, please."

"Thomas, how could I be mad about that?" His dad said incredulously, holding even tighter. "You listen to me, Thomas. The most important thing in my _life_ is knowing that you are happy. If you need to take some medicine for that, then so be it, because God help me, it's better than the alternative. What happened before, I – I would do anything before watching you go through that again. Whatever you need to do, you do it, and if that includes taking medication then… then so be it."

"Thanks, Dad," Thomas sniffed, pulling out of his father's arms and wiping his eyes.

"Hey," his dad smiled sadly. He ruffled Thomas' hair, having to reach up slightly to do so as Thomas screwed up his face in annoyance. "I'm proud of you. Remember that."

* * *

Matthew and Mary were curled up together on top of the covers on Matthew's bed, lazily trading kisses as the afternoon light streamed in through the window.

"I wish we could stay here all day," Matthew mused between kisses, gently carding his fingers through Mary's hair.

"Me too," Mary smiled. "Do you think my parents would notice if I just… didn't go home?"

"If I said no, would you stay forever?"

"They might notice that I'm gone," Mary laughed.

"Hmm." Matthew kissed her gently on the lips. "I'll miss you though."

"I'll miss you too. I'll see you just next week, though, and you know that I'd never give up the chance to torment Edith."

"Then maybe for Edith's sake you should just… stay here," Matthew smiled.

"If you're going to use Edith as a flirtation device then we need to reconsider this arrangement!"

They both giggled, Matthew tightening the arm that was wrapped around Mary.

"How much longer do you reckon you can stay for?" asked Matthew.

"Five minutes?"

He wrinkled his nose in disapproval.

"Ten?"

"Ten I can deal with," he smiled, leaning in to kiss her once more.

It was a further twenty minutes before they eventually emerged from Matthew's room, still exchanging kisses and giggling.

"How are you two lovebirds doing?" Jimmy smirked, leaning against the countertop and drinking his tea.

Matthew glared at him pointedly while Mary got ready to go. "Fine, _thank you_."

"Matthew, have you seen my left shoe?"

"No, I – I haven't seen it," said Matthew, smiling suspiciously. "What a shame, if you – if you haven't got your left shoe, you can't drive, so you can't go home, what a pity!"

"Matthew…"

"It's under the sink."

Rolling her eyes fondly, Mary walked over to the kitchen sink and rescued her left shoe from the cupboard.

"I really have to go," Mary said as she tugged the shoe on, Matthew pretending to hide her coat. "I'll see you in two weeks when I come back down to visit, I promise; but I really, really have to go."

"Fine!" Matthew helped with her coat as they made their way to the front door of the flat.

"The time will whizz by, you'll see," Mary said as she stood in Matthew's doorway, kissing him.

He slipped his hands around her waist as they kissed, resting his forehead against hers as they parted. "Don't forget me, will you?"

"What?" said Mary incredulously. "Don't be daft! We'll talk every day, you'll be sick of me before the week's out."

"Me? Tired of you?" Matthew laughed, kissing her again. "Never."

"I really have to go. Really, _really_ have to go."

He slowly kissed her once more, taking her hand and squeezing it. "Well, I suppose I'll have to be content with just 'see you soon'."

"Yes." Mary smiled sadly. "Yes. I'll see you soon."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Matthew leant against it, letting out an enormous sigh.

"You okay there?" Jimmy asked, stepping into the hallway.

Matthew shrugged, intent on studying his hands. "I suppose. I – I know it's silly, because we've only been going out for a few days, but…"

"But what?" Jimmy prompted.

"But I think I love her," said Matthew, looking surprised that the words had even come out of his mouth.

"Well, I'm happy for you, mate," said Jimmy. "I have to say I wasn't too keen on Mary when we met her, but you two are… well, you're something else."

Matthew smiled. "You – you really think so?"

"'course I bloody well think so!" Jimmy grinned. "Seriously, Matthew, you two are the real deal."

"Thank you, Jimmy, that – that means a lot."

"Sure," Jimmy smirked. "Remember that when you're picking a best man for your wedding, huh?"

"Like I'd choose anyone but you," Matthew teased. They slowly meandered back to the other room, collapsing onto the sofa. "Right; your task now is to distract me. My girlfriend's just left to go to Yorkshire and if I think about that too much I might start crying, which neither of us want."

"What exactly do you mean by - "

"Just… just tell me stuff, Jimmy. What's going on with you? I feel like I've barely spoken to you since Mary and I got together."

"A whole five days, you mean?" said Jimmy dryly.

Matthew countered, "A lot can happen in five days. How were things after your trip to London?"

Jimmy looked at his friend for a moment, confused, before he started to become suspicious. "What are you getting at?"

"How's Thomas?" Matthew asked outright. "Mary mentioned that he'd broken up with Edward, but that's all I know."

"So you want me to share gossip with you?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Fine!" huffed Jimmy. "Okay, well – from what I can gather, Wednesday was Edward's birthday and when Thomas should have been meeting Edward for dinner to celebrate, he was actually driving me back from London."

"Ouch," Matthew winced. "So he broke up with him?"

"Yeah. I think it was one of those things, you know, where one thing happens but it kind of brings up all the other things that have happened and… yeah."

"Hmm." Matthew looked at Jimmy for a few seconds, calculating. "Did Thomas tell you exactly why Edward was upset?"

"No, but – look, Thomas told me a lot of stuff, but most of it is really personal. I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to."

"That's not what I – you know I wouldn't ask you to do that. I just… do you think that, maybe, Edward might have been jealous?"

"Jealous?" said Jimmy with incredulity. "Jealous of what?"

Matthew sighed impatiently. "Of you, Jimmy."

Jimmy let out a loud, barking laugh. "You've seriously lost it now. Edward? Jealous of _me_? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know… you and Thomas, the way you two are together…"

Jimmy looked at him blankly. "What – what are you getting at, Matthew?"

Matthew stared at him for a few seconds, determined to make him understand, before giving up and trying a different tactic. "What about Thomas? How is he doing, after it all?"

"He'll be okay," Jimmy said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. "He's home for the holiday now so he'll have some space, and it's not like he's never going to find someone else. I bet he's got a whole queue of blokes just waiting for him."

Matthew jumped up, rapidly reaching the end of his tether.

"Jimmy, are you actually this… this dense?"

"What?" Jimmy looked up at him, baffled by the sudden turn of events.

"It's obvious to anyone who's in the same room as you two for more than a second – I mean, the things you two have done for each other, how close you are, the way you look at each other – are you actually telling me that you have no idea what I'm trying to say?"

Jimmy sat in a stoic silence, a warning in his eyes. It was obvious to Matthew that Jimmy was starting to catch on to what he was saying and wanted him to stop. He was sympathetic, of course he was, but if he didn't say at least something he knew he'd burst.

"I don't want to tell you how – how you feel, or what you should do, because that all needs to come from you," he began, attempting to calm Jimmy down first. "But can't you see it? You've been trying to prove to the world that it's not true and you've done some really stupid things in the process – don't think I don't know what you and Edith got up to _in my bed_ – but you need to _stop_ , Jimmy, for your sake and for Thomas'."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jimmy said, his voice trembling under the strain of his emotions.

"Seriously, Jimmy?!" Matthew exclaimed. "Come on, really; you don't have to say anything, not to me, but you can't sit and get bitter about this. It's the twenty-first century; get your head out of your arse."

There was a long silence, Jimmy shaking – with rage or with sadness, Matthew couldn't tell.

"He broke up with his boyfriend less than a week ago," said Jimmy in a small voice, staring at a patch of carpet two feet to Matthew's left.

"I'm not telling you to marry him tomorrow," Matthew breathed as he sat back down, glad that he was finally getting through to his friend. "He needs time, you need time. Just don't… don't sit around, waiting for someone to tell you that it's okay. I'm telling you, now; it's okay. It's more than okay – it's brilliant! It's obvious that you two care about each other so, so deeply, and he makes you happy, Jimmy, so of course it's okay."

Jimmy hastily rubbed his eyes, trying to erase any trace of tears. "Matthew, is this – is this how you felt about Mary? How you, how you _feel_ about Mary?"

"Yes," Matthew said frankly, smiling at the thought of Mary. "Yes, it is."

Jimmy only nodded, sniffing and wiping his eyes again. "Then… thank you, Matthew, for – for pulling my head out of my arse."

Matthew grinned. "Anytime, my friend. Anytime."

 **Thank you for reading! Only one chapter and then the epilogue left...**

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	25. Chapter 25

**This chapter was weirdly difficult to write, so I hope it's okay!**

 **Chapter 25**

 _In which Jimmy receives some important news and shares it with Thomas._

"Good morning, Mrs Hughes," Mr Carson greeted her as she came into the porter's lodge that morning. "I trust you had a pleasant holiday?"

Mrs Hughes set her handbag down on the side, shrugging off her coat and putting the kettle on. "I did, thank you! I think a week at the seaside was exactly what I needed. What about you, did you enjoy your time off?"

"Yes, I did," said Mr Carson, turning in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. "You know, Mrs Hughes, I was wondering… is there a Mr Hughes?"

"Not for thirty years, there hasn't been," she smiled sadly. "Is there a Mrs Carson?"

Mr Carson looked shocked, as if it hadn't occurred to him that Mrs Hughes might ask the similar question. "No, no, there's… there's no Mrs Carson."

He took the offered mug of tea from Mrs Hughes, humming in approval as he sipped it.

"I was wondering, Mrs Hughes, if maybe at the weekend you would like to join me for dinner?"

Mrs Hughes sat in the chair other chair, smiling warmly as she sipped her own tea. "On one condition. You start calling me Elsie."

Mr Carson smiled, a twinkle in his eyes. "As long as you call me Charlie."

* * *

It was a strange feeling for Mary, unpacking her suitcase in her room in college for the final time. Every term she told herself she'd pack lighter than she did for the previous one, and every term she failed in that. But where had the time gone? She glanced around the little room in the college that had been her home for the last three years, a heavy feeling of sadness settling in her chest. In two months it would all be over; she'd be graduating, leaving for good, having to work out what to do with her time, with her life. She'd been telling her parents for years now that she was an adult, and now, suddenly, it was about to become reality.

As she gazed out over the quad, she couldn't help but think back over her time at the college. There was the lawn that their summer picnics and garden parties were held on, the storage cupboard that she and Thomas had pretended to make out in, the bush she'd thrown up over on her first night. Twenty-one suddenly seemed too old, and she felt too young, for this to be over in a flash.

She was pulled out of her reminiscences by a sharp knock at the door.

"It's open, come on in."

The door creaked open and Matthew slipped in, his whole posture visibly relaxing as soon as he saw Mary.

"Hello, Mary," he smiled as they kissed, not letting go of each other's hands even as they pulled apart. "I'm… I'm so glad you're back. I missed you so much."

"You saw me every weekend," Mary said, her tone chiding but the twinkle in her eyes telling him that she was joking. "But I missed you too."

He hummed his approval as they kissed once again, this time lingering for a few seconds before parting.

"Be honest with me, though," said Mary, smiling mischievously. "Are you really glad to see me? Or are you just happy to finally spend time with someone who isn't Jimmy?"

Matthew laughed, putting his hands on her waist and pulling her closer. "You've got me there! As great as Jimmy is, it _has_ been quite tiring living with him for the last few weeks. He's been pining," he added at Mary's inquisitive look.

"I suppose I don't really have to ask what – or who – he's been pining for."

"It doesn't exactly take a genius to work that out, though. How is Thomas, by the way? After, you know…"

"Better," said Mary. "I think it was good that we had the holidays straight away; gave him time to go home, have some space, sort everything out in his head. I think the only person surprised at how quickly he seems to be moving on is him; he cared for Edward, of course, but not enough to send him into the spiral that I think he'd expected."

"That's something, I suppose. But enough about them; I think it's time they sort themselves out. I don't know about you, but I feel like we've put more than our fair share into their relationship."

"So, if Jimmy and Thomas never got together, and there was something you could do about it, you wouldn't?"

Matthew knew he'd been caught out. "Fine, I would. But only if it was the last resort!"

"Good. You know… I really did miss you."

"Really? The great and cold Mary Grantham missed me?"

"Of course I missed you, I love you," Mary laughed, her hand on his chest. She froze as soon as her words registered in her mind, her eyes wide in panic for a second as she stepped back before carefully recomposing herself. "What I meant to say was…"

Her eyes betrayed her, flitting from side to side as she desperately tried to think of something else to say, but Matthew gently took her face in his hands, kissing her forehead.

"I love you too," he whispered and kissed her softly, smiling against her lips. "So, so much."

* * *

The following morning, Jimmy blearily wondered around the tiny kitchen making breakfast.

"Matthew, do you want coffee?" he called, tugging at his t-shirt as he yawned.

"Yes, please," Matthew called back, still buttoning up his shirt as he came out of his room. "Have you got the post yet?"

"Nah, not yet," Jimmy said through a mouthful of toast.

Matthew sauntered into the hallway, picking up the post and bringing it through. "Bank statement… gas bill… oh, this one's for you."

He handed the last envelope to Jimmy who glanced at the envelope, doing a double-take when he saw the return address.

"Matthew," Jimmy breathed, his face white and hands shaking. "Matthew, this is – this is it, this is it!" He looked straight at Matthew, eyes wide in panic, the envelope still clutched in his hand. "I have to go, I – I have to go!"

He marched straight past Matthew, envelope in one hand and toast in the other and opened the door wide open, dashing through it.

"Jimmy?" Matthew called, darting after his friend. "Jimmy, where are you going?"

He ran down the stairs, worry rising in his chest, stepping outside only to see Jimmy running down the street, confused pedestrians moving aside and staring. Matthew couldn't work out for the life of him where Jimmy was going – until Jimmy turned, running down a side street which Matthew knew led straight to Downton College.

Smiling to himself, Matthew took out his phone, absent-mindedly dialling.

"Mary? It's Jimmy. He's gone rogue."

* * *

Thomas was dragged out of a deep sleep by a loud, incessant knocking – or rather, banging – in his room. He sat up instantly, looking around for the source of the noise, before realising that it was someone at his door.

"I'm coming," he called out blearily, struggling to tug on his dressing gown as he answered the door. "Jimmy? Are you – are you in your pyjamas? And your slippers? What time is it?"

"Thomas!" A frazzled Jimmy pushed Thomas back into his room, slamming the door behind him. "Thomas, it came, the letter came, and I don't know what to do, look at it! Look at it!"

He waved the envelope in Thomas', face, stepping back and running his fingers through his hair when Thomas took it, eagerly looking at the envelope before his face fell.

"You haven't opened it?" asked Thomas as Jimmy paced the room. "Why – why not?"

Jimmy stopped in his tracks, looking at Thomas as if he'd asked a ridiculous question. "Because I – I'm scared, Thomas! I – I really want this, really, I do, more than – more than anything, well, not quite anything, but – but you know what I mean!" The colour rushed to his face, and Thomas couldn't help but feel that he'd intruded on a private moment even though it was just the two of them there.

"Jimmy…" Thomas took a few tentative steps towards Jimmy, putting his hands on Jimmy's shoulders. "Jimmy, I don't know what's in this letter, any more than you do, but you'll never know if you don't open it. If it's the news you hoped for then that's brilliant, but if it's not… if it's not then we'll deal with it. It won't be the end of the world. But at least you'll _know_.

Jimmy stared at Thomas, slowly processing his words. "You're right," he said decisively. "I – I have to know."

Slowly, as if he was worried it might somehow hurt him, he took the envelope with trembling fingers out of Thomas' hand. He tore it open, hands shaking, clumsily tugging out the letter inside and unfolding it.

"What does it say?" Thomas asked, his breath caught in his throat.

Jimmy looked up from the letter, wide eyes meeting Thomas'. "I got in," he breathed.

"Wh-what?!" Thomas couldn't help but grin wider than he could ever remember grinning before. "You got in? You – you got the place?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Jimmy, jumping up with excitement. "I got a place, I'm in, I – I can't believe it! I'm – I'm going to London, I'm going to music college, I – this is bloody brilliant!"

He threw the letter at Thomas who read through it, grinning even harder as he saw the words printed on the paper.

"This – Jimmy, this is fantastic! You – you did it, you really did it!"

Jimmy laughed loudly with an infectious happiness, his hands pressed to his head in disbelief. "I – I can't believe this, this is, this is ridiculous, I'm going, I got in, this is really happening, is it? Is it really happening? Thomas, is it – is it really happening?"

Thomas nodded, the smile still plastered on his face. "Yes," he said, his voice filled with a calm relief. "Yes, Jimmy, it's really happening."

Jimmy froze, the picture of happiness, his wide eyes staring straight at Thomas. "And… and _this_ is really happening?"

"Jimmy, what - " Thomas started, but he was cut off as Jimmy closed the few feet between them, taking Thomas' face in his hands and kissing him fiercely. He stood in shock for a few seconds, moving his lips on instinct against Jimmy's, before his brain kicked in and he wrapped his arms around Jimmy, pulling him close. It was brand new but it felt like coming home, feeling Jimmy's chest pressed against his, Jimmy's hands, one on his shoulder, the other buried in his hair.

"Wow," Thomas breathed as they parted, resting their foreheads together.

"I've wanted to do that for a very long time," Jimmy whispered, his nose against Thomas'.

"Tell me about it!" Thomas kissed Jimmy again, slow and gentle.

"Thomas," Jimmy said when they parted once more, looping his arms around Thomas' neck, "I… I just, I can't - "

"It's okay," said Thomas. "It's fine, I understand, really, if you – if that's how you feel then, then we can just forget that this happened, it's fine. Honestly."

"What?" Jimmy pulled back to he could look Thomas straight in the eye. "You think that – no, Thomas, that's not what I mean, really, I just – I can't think, of what to say, because the way I feel, Thomas, it's all so much and I've never felt this way before about anyone and I spent so long worrying about it, and denying it, but – but I… I love being your friend but I don't want to be _just_ friends for any longer."

"Really?" Thomas breathed. "You – you mean it? Even after, even after knowing everything? Because you deserve someone better than me, Jimmy, really, you do, someone who isn't – isn't broken, someone who isn't so screwed up."

"But I want _you_! Only you! Thomas – this is the one thing that I want the most. More than anything else. More than music college! I – I still can't believe that that letter says what it says – but it wouldn't matter if it said something different. Not if… not if what _you_ said stayed the same."

"What? What do I say?"

Jimmy took a nervous breath, smiling up at Thomas. "Do you… will you be my boyfriend?"

Thomas kissed him soundly, pulling Jimmy close with one arm around his waist and the other hand on his back.

"You're sure it's me that you want? Because there are so many other people out there that are better for you, I promise."

"No one is better for me than you," Jimmy smiled despairingly, kissing Thomas once more. "So… what's your answer?"

Thomas grinned, brushing Jimmy's hair out of his eyes and kissing his forehead. "Yes, Jimmy. If you'll be mine?"

 **Only the epilogue to go! It will be up by the end of tomorrow :)**


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 _In which Mary and Thomas graduate._

"Ahh, hello there, Mr Carson!"

Robert Grantham shook Mr Carson's hand, both of them in their best suits.

"Tell me; how are things going with Mrs Hughes? Mary told me all about it – apparently you're the gossip of the college?"

"I wouldn't go that far, Mr Grantham," said Mr Carson in his usual growl. "But it's going well, thank you very much."

"Well, I'm very happy for you," smiled Mr Grantham as Cora Grantham joined them from where she was speaking with Mrs Hughes. "We had better go and find our seats before we get cornered by my mother. We'll see you both at the reception, then!"

They said their goodbyes, Cora and Robert making their way into the hall where the graduation ceremony was going to be held.

"Mama! Papa!" Mary came dashing towards them, elegant as always even in her heels, her gown already on and her cap in hand. She was dragging a tall, blond young man behind her, who was shaking his head fondly at Mary's excitement. "Mama, Papa, you made it!"

"Of course we did, we couldn't miss your graduation!" said Cora, hugging her daughter and kissing her on the cheek. "And this must be Matthew!"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Grantham," Matthew said, giving his best smile and shaking both of their hands.

"The pleasure's all ours," said Cora. "Mary hasn't been able to talk about much else."

"Mama!"

"Well, it's wonderful to meet you at last," said Robert genuinely as he shook Matthew's hand firmly. He lowered his voice, pretending that Cora and Mary weren't hanging on his every word. "You make her very happy; I never thought I'd see the day, but here we are."

"You really do like him, Papa?" Mary asked, suddenly seeming much younger than her twenty-one years.

"Of course he does!"

They all turned to see Violet Grantham making her way towards them determinedly, ploughing her way through the rapidly filling hall.

"God save us all," Robert muttered under his breath.

"Don't worry, Mary," Violet stage-whispered when she reached them all, "I put in a good word for him. But in all seriousness, you've made a much more… conventional… choice than either of your sisters; for that, we must all be grateful! At least one of you has some sense."

"Really, Violet, Tom is a very sweet young man," Cora said, Robert making some vaguely agreeable noises.

"That he may be, but a politician! And a liberal one, at that!" Violet scoffed.

Mary spotted Tom with his brother and Sybil at the other end of the hall, and hastily changed the topic of conversation. "Granny, I assure you, Tom is simply marvellous, and perfect for Sybil. Wasn't Edith supposed to be coming too? Typical of her to be late."

"I'm not late!" Edith's voice came from the door where she was standing hand in hand with –

"Is that – is that Laura? From the rowing team?" Mary hissed to Matthew, who only nodded, amused.

Violet huffed in her characteristic way of saying, 'I told you so'. "See? _Very_ unconventional."

"Really, Mother, we're trying to be very open-minded and supportive of this," said Robert, clearly tired of reciting the same argument. "The last thing we want is for anyone to make Edith feel uncomfortable."

"Oh, dear!" Realisation quickly turned to amusement on Violet's face. "You thought I had issue with the gender of Edith's new partner! No, of course not, who do you take me for? If Edith wants to date a woman then that's fine, really, but a _journalist_? Really, Robert, do you _really_ want a journalist in the family?"

* * *

The ceremony itself was long, dull and predictable, but it was more than made up for by the reception afterwards. Mrs Patmore had outdone herself, with vast amounts of food and drink available wherever you turned. The graduates themselves were outside, taking photographs, while their friends and family milled around indoors, eating canapes and sipping champagne.

"Jimmy!"

Jimmy span around from where he was trying to work out how to eat oysters, his face falling as he saw Edith dashing towards him.

"Oh, er, hi, Edith. You know, I'd love to chat, but I think I have to, um, go, I - "

"Jimmy, relax!" said Edith. "I just – well, I heard about you and Thomas, and I wanted to say congratulations. You two are meant for each other, really."

"I've been hearing that a lot," Jimmy said, unable to stop himself from grinning at the thought of Thomas.

"And, well, you know," Edith shifted from one foot to the other, glancing towards the bar where Laura was ordering drinks. "Laura and I, we, er… well. We're together now, too."

"That's great!" Jimmy exclaimed, the news of Edith's relationship relaxing him. "So, I… I guess we had similar, er, motives, then?"

"I suppose you could say that," Edith smiled awkwardly as she lifted up her champagne glass. "A toast to… to finding love. And to bisexuals everywhere: rainbows, unicorns and lack of media representation."

"I'll drink to that," Jimmy laughed, raising his own glass and drinking.

As Edith joined Laura at the bar, the newly graduated students slowly started to trickle back through, hugging parents and accepting bouquets of flowers. Jimmy spotted Mary kiss Matthew before being swamped by the rest of her family, closely followed by Tom and a few other people he vaguely recognised. He went to step forwards, join in the search for the person _he_ was there to support, but when he saw Mr Barrow do the same thing decided to wait. There would be time; of that he was sure.

"Thomas?" Mr Barrow said when he finally found his son, pulling him into a tight hug. "Congratulations, son! I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad," Thomas mumbled, embarrassed but pleased. "I – I can't quite believe it, I mean, look! I've got a cap and everything!"

"I think you deserve a bit more than a cap!" His dad joked, stepping back and adjusting Thomas' graduation gown.

"What about a degree?" said Thomas.

A huge smile broke out on Mr Barrow's face. "That's more like it!" He looked over Thomas' shoulder to where Jimmy was waiting patiently at the edge of the room. "You know, I think that there's someone else who wants to congratulate you."

"You were nice to him, weren't you, Dad?" Thomas said quickly, suddenly concerned. "He was really worried about it, because it was a long time that it was just the two of you sitting together."

"Relax, Thomas! It was fine. I – alright, I did give him a _bit_ of a talking to about what would happen if he ever hurt you, you know, that sort of thing, but he's a nice lad. I'm glad you two are seeing each other. I can see how happy he makes you, and that's the most important thing. But remember - "

"I know, Dad," sighed Thomas. "If he ever hurts me, I'll tell you straight away."

"You got it," Mr Barrow said, still beaming with pride. "Now, you go and be with him for a bit. I'll be alright, you'll see."

Thomas gave his dad one more hug before making his way to the corner where Jimmy was lurking.

"Congratulations!" Jimmy smiled as Thomas reached him, passing him a bouquet of flowers. "These – these are for you."

"Thank you," Thomas smiled, taking them and kissing Jimmy softly. "And thank you for coming, too – you didn't have to, but it meant a lot to have you here."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world! But… do I have to call you Thomas Barrow, BA Hons now?" Jimmy added, grinning cheekily as he sipped his champagne.

"If that's what you're into," Thomas said, wiggling his eyebrows, causing Jimmy to choke on his drink. "Besides, give it a few years, you'll have some letters after your name too."

"Yeah." Jimmy's face fell at the reminder, and as much as he tried to hide it Thomas saw straight through him.

"Do you want to go for a walk? Get some air?" Thomas asked, taking Jimmy's hand as he nodded and leading them out into the fields behind the college. The summer weather meant it was still warm and still light even though it was the evening, as they sauntered hand in hand along the river bank.

"I don't want to go to London," Jimmy blurted out. "I mean – of course I do, I want it so much, but not if it means being away from you. It's not like there aren't other music colleges; I could apply next year, see if I could go to the Royal Northern or somewhere. London is far away, Thomas, and I don't want that."

"I'd been thinking something similar," Thomas replied. "You see – I need something to do now, and I was just going to work in my dad's shop, but he doesn't need the help, not really, so I started looking around. There are lots of jobs all over the place for engineering students, but if – like me – you're more interested in antiques, it's a bit more limited. But then I found a shop that needed someone who, while an engineer, was interested in restoring old mechanics. There are loads of old clocks all over the country, see, and they need people to look at them and fix them and keep them running, and sometimes to build new ones that are in the style of the old ones. Other things too, but mostly clocks. It's pretty specialist, but that works out for me. I applied for the job, and… and I got it."

"Really? Thomas, that's brilliant, that's amazing! That sounds perfect for you – really, it does."

"It gets better," Thomas grinned. "Because it's specialist, it's based somewhere central, somewhere people go if they want specialist things done." He looked at Jimmy expectantly, but was met with a blank look. "London! It's in London, Jimmy!"

Jimmy gasped, his eyes widening comically. "You mean – you mean that you're going to be working in London?"

"Yes!" They stopped walking, Thomas wrapping his arms around Jimmy's waist. "What do you say? Can I come to London with you?"

"What do you mean, can you?! Of course you bloody well can!" Jimmy kissed Thomas soundly, his hands on Thomas' shoulders. "We – we're going to London, together! Oh, I can't believe this, Thomas, this is bloody brilliant!"

Thomas laughed at his excitement, kissing him once more. He brought one hand up to cup Jimmy's cheek as he pulled back, saying with complete sincerity, "I love you, Jimmy."

Jimmy froze, still grinning, staring up at Thomas. "I love you too, Thomas. More than I ever thought was possible."

Unable to help themselves they kissed again, enjoying the moment in each other's presence. They continued their walk along the riverbank, excitedly planning everything about their move to London, until the evening chill began to set in and they made their way back to the college, arms around each other.

Thomas gave his father a thumbs up once they returned to the room where the reception was being held, and Jimmy received an approving nod in return.

"Thomas! Jimmy!"

They turned around at their names to an excited Mary, clutching Matthew's hand. "Where have you been? Come on, Mama wants a picture of all four of us."

They let themselves be tugged into Mary's photo, Thomas and Mary in the middle, Jimmy and Matthew either side of them, Cora taking photo after photo until Mary had had enough and let them free. Thomas wasn't able to go far, however, before he was cornered by Robert.

"Thomas? May I have a word?"

Thomas shot a pleading look at Jimmy, who mouthed 'sorry' and went back to talking with Mary and Matthew. "Of – of course, Mr Grantham."

"You really can call me Robert, you know," Mr Grantham chuckled. "Now, I know things have always been a bit… odd between us, after everything that happened, but I – I just want to say that I'm very, very glad that Mary's got a friend like you. Even if things hadn't turned out the way I had initially hoped, I… I think we can both agree that they turned out for the best."

"That we definitely can," Thomas said determinedly, earning another chuckle from Robert.

"I just wanted to check that there were no hard feelings," Robert continued. "Between you and Mary, between you and I…"

"None at all," Thomas assured him. "As you say, things have really turned out for the best. I don't think any of us could hold that against anyone else."

As Robert said goodbye and went back to join his family, Jimmy came up to Thomas, taking his hand.

"You okay? What did Mary's dad want?"

Thomas shrugged, smiling. "Doesn't matter."

Jimmy looked at him, concerned, gently brushing Thomas' hair back to where it was supposed to be. "Are you alright?"

Turning to him, Thomas smiled in satisfaction. "Jimmy? I've never been happier."

Jimmy grinned. "Good. Me neither."

 **Thank you to everyone who has read this fic, especially to everyone who has reviewed or left kudos! I have lots of love for each and every one of you.**

 **Fandom tumblr: singing-fangirl**

 **For my other writing updates, including (hopefully!) future publishing endeavours, check out my tumblr: gracewatsonauthor**


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